


Smooth Criminal

by fabricdragon



Series: Smooth Criminal [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Asexual Sherlock, Background Relationships, Bisexual Character, Bondlock, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover Pairings, Demisexuality, Don't Judge Me, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hospitals, In later chapters - Freeform, Just assume all the tags, Language, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, OOQ - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other: See Story Notes, Pansexual Character, Rare Pairings, Sherlock Holmes on the Asexuality Spectrum, but not graphic, i guess, its what they do, they kill people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 45,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5525924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty was handling some business at a  posh hotel in Europe.  James Bond was on assignment  and at the same hotel for different reasons.  A  group of terrorists  decided to  seize most of the  people in the hotel as hostages one morning over breakfast using  anesthetic gas.<br/>This was a very bad idea for the terrorists... and possibly for the rest of the world.<br/>Jim and James should never have met, but they did.</p><p>The first Four chapters may be read as a self contained story.</p><p>Updates Sunday andThursdays when possible.<br/>(the F/M tag is  for Bond seducing people, he does that.)</p><p>LATER chapters include some distressing themes, including injury, canon typical violence, brainwashing, and references to unpleasant criminal activities.  when possible chapters will be tagged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Deadly Mixture

 

Bond's sharp blue eyes looked over the other occupants of the underground garage: some chained to pillars like he was; others just handcuffed and tossed in corners. Most of them were civilians, although Bond identified a few agents or ex-military here and there.

A pair of dark eyes caught his attention.

The man was unassuming looking-physically-he may have even been called 'cute' by someone, but never by Bond. Those were the eyes of a killer.

The dark eyed man scooted closer to Bond.

"So... You're the only one in here that seems halfway worth the time," He said quietly, calmly, as though they weren't hostages, as though being in an explosive-rigged garage was a minor irritation. "If I get you out of those chains, can you kill enough of these annoyances for me to deactivate the bomb?"

Bond didn’t waste effort with talk, just kept his eyes trained on the exit and nodded slightly. Whoever the man was, he seemed certain he could handle the bomb.

A moment later the locks on his restraints opened, and Bond turned into a killing machine- or rather, revealed the killing machine that had momentarily been in repose.

Fourteen terrorists later, Bond circled back into the garage under the hotel. The bomb was disarmed, oddly. Sharp blue eyes noted the position of artfully scattered parts and blood spatters. Four men were neatly and professionally dead among the hostages; Bond wondered idly who they had been– they’d still been alive when he’d been turned loose. His innocent looking rescuer was nowhere to be seen.

\---

“Report.” M snapped. Somehow she made it sound as though the entire incident was one of Bond’s escapades gone wrong.

“I could hardly have expected terrorists to gas the hotel.” Bond flexed his fingers angrily; he hated poor intelligence.

“This report is insufficient, 007.” M glanced down at her desk and nodded faintly. Her expression relaxed slightly- no one but Bond would have likely noticed.

“Q?”

“Is currently playing a recording of me calling you nine kinds of a fool, and putting you on suspension. I believe our prior conversations have given him enough material to make it a three act play.” One corner of her mouth twitched upwards briefly. “Our conversation is secure.”

Bond nodded. The new Quartermaster may look like he was about to be arrested for truancy, but he knew what he was doing.

“It was bad: luckily it wasn’t aimed at our operation.” Bond grimaced, “Anyone who looked like a combatant, or had weapons, was restrained pretty heavily by the time any of us woke up.”

“You got out of them.”

“That’s just it, M, I didn’t.” Bond watched M raise an eyebrow-the closest he’d ever see to a shocked expression, he supposed- “Some innocent looking fellow undid the locks. He’s the one who stopped the bomb.” His eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that on all the surveillance? They put the bomb right under the cameras.”

“No, Bond,” M’s voice was low and steady, “Whoever he was, he disabled all the surveillance before he stopped the bomb, and then erased all the hotel security footage. At some point, probably after the bomb disposal, he killed two hotel employees and one of the anti-terrorism squad while removing all evidence of his existence from the hotel. We have no way of finding out who he was.”

Bond’s eyes widened and he felt the warm flush start at the base of his spine. He nodded. “Innocent looking. Good suit, wore it like he lived it. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale… British? Maybe Irish? Not sure, he only said a little.” Bond smiled, “Find out who those four men he killed in the garage were, and you might have a clue.”

“He killed?” M frowned. “Reports said they were killed by the terrorists.”

“No.” A lazy smile hinted at the corner of his lips, like a cat smelling prey. “They were alive when he turned me loose. I think I kept them too busy to worry about killing the hostages.”

“Hmm. Alright, I’ll look into it. In the meantime, I need you to vanish for two weeks. I’ll call you when I need you.”

Bond grinned at that. Two weeks? Probably get called back after one, the way things had been going. Plenty of time.

 


	2. Singing in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond follows the clues and finds Moriarty... or he walks into Jim's trap.

It had taken two days for Bond to find the perfect vantage point. The spatters of blood and the pattern of the tools and bomb parts had been clues, and following them had led him to a business outside of London. People came and went at all sorts of odd hours here, but he hadn’t seen his peculiarly young looking target yet.

It was raining, again. Bond was beginning to think that the weather had it in for him personally. It always seemed to rain when the sniper spot was exposed. He was using the scope on his rifle-habit really- and cursing the umbrellas; it made it so much harder to tell who people were.

And then it wasn’t hard to tell at all.

He was wearing a tan coat, not black, and carrying a tan umbrella. He was listening to a pair of headphones and dancing on his way into the building. Bond found himself smiling, just a bit. He looked like he was having fun.

\---

On the other end of his communicator, some of his boys were interrogating the next contact in line from the attack on the hotel. He kept half an ear to the screams and pleading, while listening to a new song from his favorite artist-this week. It was such a LOVELY day.

He spun around, letting his umbrella catch in the air and counterbalance him. There was something different on the roof.

He thumbed his headset. “Moran? Be a dear, will you, and tell me who that is on the roof?”

“Roof?”

“Ignorance is fatal, darling. Someone’s on the roof, southwest of me. They haven’t taken a shot yet, although they could have.” He closed his umbrella and entered the building. “Don’t kill them; I want to know who they are. I did leave an invitation for someone.”

“What kind of someone?…Sir.”

“Jealous, darling? A killer with bright blue eyes. We met at the hotel.” Jim smiled and went down to help interrogate some very annoying terrorists.

\---

Bond was waiting for his target to come back out of the building. He hadn’t seen a car, but the man could have parked at a distance. He’d have to trail him back to find out where he lived, and who he was.

He rolled to the side and threw a knife over his shoulder before he’d fully processed the feeling that someone was behind him. Bond always followed instincts that involved someone being behind him, armed.

There was a man trying to get away. Bond’s knife had hit him in the shoulder and he’d dropped a gun. Bond caught up with him and slammed him into the wall. The man muffled a scream as his injured shoulder jolted.

“Who are you, then?” Bond growled, “And who do YOU work –“ His question was cut off as something hit him sharply in the lower back.

Fool. He’d been baited into position for that shot. He could still move, and his legs worked, so a small knife? He reached back, and pulled the dart free as he went for cover.

A dart? Poison? Bond felt decidedly woozy, but… he shook his head. Not lethal, then: a tranquilizer. He forced himself to stumble and fall. He let his hand twitch toward the gun, and fail.

Bond held very still and waited, fighting the blackness creeping up and trying to pull him down. Luckily, he had a frighteningly high tolerance for most drugs; one of the few benefits of having been in medical so often.

“Well, he’s a tough one.” Some voice he didn’t know, not his umbrella- dancing bomb defuser.

“Not so tough.” Second voice said.

“Jim thought he was worth taking alive.”

“So? He knifed Milt. We could just say he fell off the roof.”

“Cuff him. Jim wants him? Jim gets him.” There was a pause. “Check and see if he has blue eyes.”

The second man reached for his wrist. Bond saw a pair of hand cuffs in his hands. Bond grabbed him as he got up and threw him off the roof. He spun to the direction of the first voice.

Gone.

Bond dove sideways as another dart missed him by a hair.

“You’re good. I’ll give you that,” a man said- it was the first voice; he was leaning against the doorway to the roof, holding a set of much heavier cuffs. He raised a hand. “There’s four snipers aimed at you right now. You should be able to see the targeting on your chest.”

Bond glanced down with his peripheral vision: a laser sighting dot held steady right over his heart. He slowly moved his hands out and away from his body.

“Jim says he left you an invitation, at the hotel.”

Bond nodded, “He did. That’s how I’m here.” The drugs were making it difficult to keep balanced.

“Well, much as I dislike this idea, if he says he wants you brought in alive, that’s what I’ll do.” He grinned, and it reminded him of Alec. “He didn’t say ANYTHING about unharmed, but I did sort of get the idea he’d prefer it.”

Bond nodded to show he understood. He held out his hand, and the man tossed the cuffs to him. He didn’t recognize the make; they had electronics, and looked pretty strong. He clipped it over one wrist and the fellow coughed politely. “Of course,” Bond said, and fastened his hands behind his back.

“Turn.”

Bond turned and held his hands back so he could see. There was a click, and he felt the cuffs buzz.

“I figured anyone Jim thought was worthwhile, was worth the good cuffs. Those are armed, now. Get too far away from me and they go off.”

Bond winced. “You didn’t seem so concerned about me with the other two.”

“Expendable, obviously. It was a good test. Milt can still learn better, but Cormac was clearly not worth our time.”

Bond’s respect for the man, and for his boss, went up another notch. “As one professional to another, I am getting a bit shaky.”

“Good.” And he shot him with another dart.

Bond looked approving at him. They sized each other up for the inevitable rematch, as Bond slipped limply to the concrete and into the dark.

  


	3. Fools are so damned ingenious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> introductions on a second date.

Bond woke up feeling surprisingly good, all things considered. His arms and legs were restrained with no leverage, and he felt some kind of restraint around his neck, but he’d been put on something padded, and he wasn’t uncomfortable. He was nude, though, which was always a matter of some concern.

“We didn’t get properly introduced before,” someone said. Bond thought about it and opened his eyes.

The dark eyed man sitting on the chair next to him smiled. His nose actually crunched up; it was adorable looking. He disarmed bombs and killed people efficiently, while erasing all evidence of who he was–looks were deceiving.

“They weren’t exactly social circumstances,” Bond said cautiously.

“Oh, I don’t know. As first dates go, I’ve had worse.” He had his hands clasped around one of his knees. He’d looked innocent and cute in his suit at the garage; he looked younger and even cuter in his T-shirt and khakis.

Bond couldn’t help but blink a few times. “Not how I’d describe it.”

“Can I call you James? It’s going to be a bit odd, what with me being Jim, if you like to be called Jim.” He sounded terribly sincere.

Bond sighed; so he knew who he was. “James is what I use when people aren’t just calling me Bond- I never use Jim.”

“Oh, good! Avoiding confusion is so important.”

“I don’t know your name, though, aside from Jim.” Bond didn’t think the man would tell him, but he had to ask.

“Jim Moriarty,” he said pleasantly. “You won’t have heard of me, though; MI6 doesn’t work in London, and I mostly do.”

“You’re…” Bond stopped. No, this man wasn’t MI5.

“You’re?”

Bond sighed, “I was going to ask if you were MI5, but you can’t be: you’re competent.”

Jim started giggling.

“So, you know who I am, and you know who I work for, and I have no idea about you.” Bond tried to prepare for an interrogation; maybe he’d at least get some information out of it; hopefully he’d be able to escape. He wondered how long it would take before his fail safe notifications kicked in. “I find it hard to believe you were behind the terrorists-“

Jim cut him off hurriedly, looking horrified, “THOSE incompetents? I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“They were good enough to catch both of us.”

“Only because they were so stupid no one professional was LOOKING that way.” He patted Bond on the thigh in a sympathetic fashion, “It’s happened to me before. You get so used to playing with the professional people the amateurs sort of blindside you.”

Bond blinked a bit, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Oh I assure you. I’ve been tracking them back and extracting information out of a few of them. Strictly second rate.” -Jim put his hand back down on Bond’s thigh; Bond did his level best to ignore it- “They just got hold of some good quality tools and one really decent bomb maker who got thrown out of the big leagues because of his drug habit.”

“You… wait, you FOUND them?”

“Naturally. My people are very good, and when they can’t manage I step in myself.” His hand slid up Bond’s leg a fraction.

Bond reflexively yanked on his restraints. They didn’t give in the slightest.

“What’s all that then?” Jim asked, cocking his head. His hand paused.

“Bastards wrecked an operation I’d been working on for months,” Bond growled. He realized that Jim seemed to have thought it was in response to his hand. “Sorry, I’m pretty pissed at them.”

Bond considered the obvious intentions of Jim’s hand on his thigh. He knew plenty of people who would rather die than allow their captor to have sex with them; Bond had always preferred the ‘stay alive and deal later’ options, himself.

“Pissed enough to make a deal, James?” Jim leaned forward until he was looking into Bond’s ice blue eyes, close enough to feel his breath against his lips.

“What kind of a deal?” He figured he knew.

“We have one fellow we just brought in; none of my boys have asked him anything yet. Would you like to interrogate him, James?

“Ok… I admit that wasn’t what I expected you to ask…”

Jim laughed. “Sex with me isn’t a punishment, James; it’s a reward, if anything. If I’m going to have you in my bed, it’s because you want to be there.”

Bond blinked, a lot. “That’s… novel.” He thought about it. “Then, to be fair, you probably want your boys to ask him the questions. I can interrogate people, but I’m much better at breaking them and killing them.” He shrugged. “I kill people.”

“I know. You’re a double-O. Some of them have other talents, but you all kill.” He leaned down and placed the softest kiss Bond had ever gotten-from a man or a woman- on his lips. “So, James… If I give you the information you need to go get the last of them, can I watch?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MI6 and MI5 (in the Daniel Craig movies and authorized books) have a negative view of each other.
> 
> Bond was expecting the deal to be "make me happy/have sex with me and you get to live" (or i let you go) or some such. not... this. in most of the movies and books (and not just Craig) when someone has Bond at a disadvantage and is interested in him, they either torture him, or force sex on him (even if its not depicted as force) and he uses that to manipulate people ALL the time...thats why he said it was novel that Moriarty wasnt.


	4. Working relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond goes on a mission. for Moriarty and himself. Murder and explosions ensue.

Bond was in France, again. He’d agreed to Jim’s terms, of course; there was no reason not to. Jim had very politely returned all his clothing and gear, and had given him some extra tools, more ammunition, and a brand new shiny non-MI6 earpiece and mini-cam. He’d also been told not to kill anyone wearing certain items of clothing, if he could avoid it, as Jim wanted to film as much of this as he could from multiple angles. The man was clearly insane.

“I’m still not used to having anyone but my Quartermaster riding along on a mission, Jim,” Bond grumbled, as he slipped past a few guards. He’d killed the first target rather easily, and been… oddly pleased… when Jim praised his efficiency and style. This one was likely to be a bit more difficult.

“I’ll try to be more use than he is,” Jim giggled in his ear, “or at least more fun.”

Bond finally reached the point at which anyone this far in SHOULD be an invited guest, and not likely to be stopped by security. He straightened his jacket, smoothed his hair, and walked into the party like he owned it.

He spent at least an hour maneuvering around the party, picking up information and figuring out who was who. A lot of this would be useful information to M if he could get it to her. He was used to Q giving him technical information, or hacking the cameras for him, and said so quietly to Jim at one point as he refreshed his current dance partner’s punch.

“Oh?” Jim asked, sounding breathless and-dammit- sensual in his ear. “Not my strongest suit. How about if I tell you about the people?”

“Sure, that’ll help.”

It blew him away. Jim could read a crowd the way Bond read a newspaper. He told him things just from looking at a guest through the camera that Bond would have sworn was impossible. Slowly, Bond started putting a few of those bits of information into use– in conversation, in manipulation– and they worked, every time.

“James,” Jim’s voice in his ear, breathless and light. “That woman, the one that’s been looking at you...”

“A lot of women are looking at me.”

“The older one, blue dress, expensive but plain gold necklace.”

Bond turned and scanned the room as he leaned casually against a wall. “Ok, what about her?”

“She was involved with the ring leader, judging from some photos we found at the previous addresses. She probably knows a lot…”

Bond smiled, raking his eyes appreciatively down the woman’s body. He watched her shiver and her hand went up to her throat unconsciously.

“Easy,” Bond said quietly.

“Submissive, probably into breath play and force,” Jim’s voice shifted again, to pure predator.

“I don’t need your help on that one. Just hush and let me work,” Bond grinned.

He ordered two drinks at the bar and walked over to her.

“I’m James, and you’re lonely and bored.” He let a bit of the growl come through in his voice as he held out a drink.

She took it, “Cecily, and yes.”

Bond leaned into her personal space, giving her room to move away, if she wanted to. “So, unless you want to shock the guests, which might liven the place up a bit, I suppose we should find a room?”

She didn’t move away, just shivered. “Upstairs. Guests aren’t supposed to-“

“So?” he smiled lazily, letting the killer show in his eyes, just a little.

“Follow me.”

He made note of every door, window, and hallway on route before Cecily got him into a bedroom.

Bond closed the door and took hold of her wrist. She let him pull her in without resistance. He put both her hands behind her back and leaned into her throat.

“If there’s anything you don’t want me to do, Cecily,” he growled into her throat as he traced his way up to the soft spot behind her ear, “tell me now, because I won’t listen to you later.”

“Don’t I even get a-a safeword?” her voice stuttered. She felt like she was burning in his arms.

“No. You get now, and you tell me what you don’t want. You can tell me what you want, too, if you like, and after that? You’re mine.”

It was a short list.

Bond tied her to the bed and blindfolded her with torn sheets from the bed. He made sure she couldn’t move at all, and then started tracing her pulse up from her wrist with his mouth. He noted the skittish jump and the moan as he licked at the inside of her elbow.

He sprawled over her, solid, and heavy as he was- pure muscle- and lightly traced a path from the hollow of her throat to the pulse under her ear.

“I gamble, you know,“ he murmured into her neck, “and right now I bet you’re wishing I’d hurry up, and you’re also wishing I wouldn’t… but” –he pulled a knife quietly from its sheath– “I also bet you never told anyone how much you dream about this…” He placed the blade, flat, against her neck, and stuffed a ball of fabric in her mouth when she tried to scream.

“The thing is,” he said conversationally into her ear, as he slowly dragged the flat of the blade down to her breasts, “you’re just going to have to trust me, aren’t you?”

She nodded shakily.

“If this wasn’t just for fun, you know, I’d probably be trying to get some kind of information out of you,” Bond said quietly, making her strain to hear him, as he carefully drew the knife over her nipple and stopped, rolling it until the edge just touched the edge of her areola. “Pity you’re gagged.”

“I was about to mention that,” Jim said in his ear. “It does seem counterproductive.”

Bond moved down and started licking and sucking on her nipple as he moved the knife down just a bit. She was twisting and moaning under him as much as she could.

Eventually he stopped and spoke again. “Want me to take that gag out of your mouth?”

She nodded.

He reached up and pulled the cloth loose and kissed her deeply and slowly; when he moved away she moaned again.

He moved down between her legs and pressed the blade to her stomach; she made little gasping noises.

He started shaving her pubic hair off, very slowly, with the knife. She moaned and bit back little screams.

Bond never asked her anything, she just started babbling: names, places, safe combinations. Most of it was of no interest to him, but every now and then she said something useful. When she did? He licked at the shaved patches and used his teeth carefully on her skin. She probably never noticed that she was, more and more, giving him the information he wanted.

“James, I take back everything I was thinking about you and your methods,“ Jim breathed in his ear, “and I want a personal demonstration when you get back…”

He kept going, using his fingers and tongue, long after she’d stopped being useful. It wouldn’t do for her to know what he’d been after, after all. By the time he dealt with his own interest, she’d come too many times to count, and probably couldn’t remember her own name. He untied one of her hands from the bed and left quietly, before she could realize he was gone.

He pulled himself together and followed her information to the house security station: as he’d hoped it, was unguarded. He sent a text from security asking his target to come to the library safe: “We found someone trying to crack it”. Once it was sent, he erased the text from the computer.

Then he waited.

When his target went by the second floor bathroom, Bond got the wire over his head and pulled him in. He was dead within a minute. Bond deleted the text from his phone, set the bathroom door to lock behind him, and walked away.

“James, you are a thing of beauty…” Jim breathed into his ear, as Bond simply walked out of the building.

“All the guards are keeping people out, it’s almost always easier to get out afterwards than it was to get in, as long as they don’t know anything’s wrong.” Bond smiled and then started worrying: he was getting to like the praise.

“Unfortunately, while we’ve been tracking these lovely people, the last one got himself blown up by one of his own bombs… a pity.”

Bond got into the car and started driving. “So we’re done?”

“Well… sadly, yes.”

“Too bad, it was fun while it lasted.”

Jim’s voice was very sad, “Yes, yes it was. Goodbye, James.”

There was a distant explosion back at the house Bond had just left.

“Goodbye, Jim,” Bond chuckled. “I’ll have to take a rain-check on showing you my techniques personally, I assume. Thanks for leaving the explosives in the car, by the way; that should keep them busy while I get further away.”

There was silence over his earpiece until he went to take it out.

“You bloody brilliant beast, you,” Jim’s voice was admiring. “I should have known better.”

“You should.”

“I’ll see you again, James, and you can give me that demonstration… I insist on it.”

“If you see me again, Jim, one of us will probably end up dead.” He threw the camera and the earpiece out of the car and changed directions once he was out of sight.

 

“It might be worth it, though,” Bond muttered, later.

He didn’t know it, but Moriarty had said the same thing as the camera had recorded the car turning out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end of the first story arc. it continues from here although we change POV characters. see you next week!


	5. Questions of loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q's point of view... more or less.  
> This begins the new story arc.

Q was working overtime, again; there’d been a lot of that the last month or two. M wasn’t saying anything directly, at least not to him, but Q knew they were concerned about a leak inside MI6. Why else would M have him preparing tapes of artfully put together ‘normal office noises’ and ‘inconsequential phone calls’ and ‘rants at Bond’.

Bond was up to his blue eyes in it, of course. Q was beginning to think the entire rest of MI6 was composed of idiots, because everyone bought the idea that M had Bond in the doghouse. M never put Bond in the dog house-well, unless she needed him there, probably to investigate some other dog. Apparently she had wanted everyone to think he’d gotten a bloody good bawling out and told to sod off for a few weeks.

Bond had stormed off: officially, in poor favor; unofficially, investigating the terror attack that interrupted his last mission. Apparently one of the other hostages had disarmed the bomb, not Bond, and killed a number of people covering his tracks. Q and a handful of others were backtracking the victims just to see if there was any rhyme or reason to it, but nothing yet.

Bond, however, hadn’t called Q in days.

Bond always called. He either called when nothing was going on-in which case he had these surreal conversions with Q about everything and nothing- or he called at the moment that EVERYTHING was going on. Bond had a preternatural gift for calling at the worst possible moments, interrupting critical programming tasks, all to ask some obscure technical question or get help doing something absurd. It always ended up being extraordinary, somehow.

But it had been days and Bond hadn’t called. Not once. Not to ask for something to be hacked into, not to talk about the best way to cook some obscure item he found in a market, nothing!

There were, however, some very Bond-like deaths happening in places that seemed to be connected to the hotel terrorist attack.

But Bond hadn’t called once to get help bypassing security, or cracking into a computer.

Q didn’t know whether to be worried about him, or worried that he was seeing some other technical genius.

As it was, he simply passed on the reported incidents to M with “Bond?” scribbled on them.

\---

Three days after a completely untraceable killing–of someone they were certain was behind the terror cell– inside a heavily guarded mansion during a formal event…

And that couldn’t have screamed Bond any better if he’d left his name in lights, could it? The man knew how good he looked in formal wear, and found every possible excuse to wear it, Q was certain of it.

…M sent him a text to report directly to her office, after activating the “normal office noises” recording for the bugs they’d found.

Bond was back.

No one had seen him come in, and he’d gotten into M’s heavily guarded office without any alarms going off.

Q blinked at Bond a few times and shut the door behind him. “Ma’am, apparently the security on your office needs work…”

Bond gave him that corner of the lip quirked smile, “You think you could keep me out?”

“No, but you should have set off a few of the alarms.”

M snorted, “Q, you can work on upgrading the security once we find out if we have an internal problem or not; in the meantime, 007 has complicated matters by finding us an external one.”

Q grinned at Bond, “Well, ma’am, that’s what he does, you know: take a perfectly straightforward problem and complicate it.”

Bond’s smile escaped the corner of his mouth and made it up to the corners of his eyes. “Turns out it was complicated before I got involved, Q.”

“How dreadful! Were you able to complicate it any further?”

“Gentlemen.” M had her ‘enough nonsense’ voice on. “Apparently Bond managed to track our mystery hostage.”

“The one who took apart the bomb?”

Bond nodded, “Apparently he’s… difficult.”

“Difficult?”

M looked down at a file- an actual paper file– in her hand, “According to this, IF the fellow is in fact as described, he is one of the most dangerous men in the world. His name is Jim Moriarty, and-”

Q interrupted, “He’s dead. Very, very publicly dead.”

Bond frowned, “You’ve heard of him?”

Q stared at Bond, “You HAVEN’T? He got the override codes to the Bank of England! He hacked a sequestered jury… he… was…”

Q stared at Bond in horror, “You…  when you didn’t call… that’s who you were working with.”

Bond stared back at him, “Somewhat. It was rather under threat, although I got some good intelligence out of it. Hacked? He said hacking security systems wasn’t his strong suit…”

“If it’s not, I shudder to ask what would be!”

“People, apparently. Just looking through a hidden camera he could tell me more about people than seemed possible.” Bond glanced at M who looked as though she hadn’t gotten this much information previously. “He hacked people the way Q goes through computers.”

M narrowed her eyes at Bond, “You didn’t mention that.”

“Hadn’t gotten to it. Thought you’d like the information I gave you first.” Bond gave her an innocent quizzical look. Q had started numbering some of Bond’s practiced looks in his head; he called this one Look Seven.

M continued, “Moriarty is apparently a certifiable genius, and certifiably insane. Of course, the fact that he was supposed to be dead is also an issue. As Q stated, he very publicly died.”

She opened the file and tossed a pile of surveillance photos down. “Is there any possibility this is him?”

Bond picked them up and looked them over.

“That’s him. That’s the man I described at the hotel, the one in the suit.” He tossed down a photo of a good looking young man in a well cut suit.

“And that’s him as he looks in casuals–for that matter, I think it’s the same coat I saw him in.” A photo of a very ordinary looking man in a tan coat over a t-shirt landed on top of the first photo. Q could only tell they were the same man because the photos were side by side, this one could vanish in a crowd.

Bond smiled– Bond actually fully smiled; it reached his eyes, too. “Never saw him in that; it suits him, though.” A photo of a man, sitting in the display case for the crown jewels– wearing most of them– topped the heap.

“That’s Jim. No question.”

“Why are you calling him Jim?” Q asked in a strangled voice.

“He took a very chatty familiar tone, flirted a lot. It seemed prudent to play along until we parted company.”

M said drily, “Apparently ‘parted company’ involved him setting a bomb in your car, and trying to kill you after you did his dirty work.”

Bond’s eyes crinkled and the corner of his mouth turned up just a little, “Didn’t stop him from flirting.”

Well, at least Q had an answer to HIS question:

He SHOULD be worried about Bond… AND worried that he was seeing some other technical genius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor Q, i do feel rather sorry for him.


	6. Quality time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As time goes by... and missed opportunities.

Over the next several weeks, Q mostly saw Bond– or M, for that matter– in hurried consultations, and brief passing-by. The tension in MI6 as a whole was climbing as more and more people became aware that something was amiss. No one had any hard information, of course, so rumors were flying. Q did his best to keep his department functioning smoothly despite it all, but it kept him very busy, which may be why he didn’t get a chance to talk to Bond in private for so long.

It was late at night, and everyone in Q branch had gone home, except Q who had gotten stubborn about a programming issue and didn’t see any reason to worry about it at home, when he could worry more efficiently here.

“You’ll never meet a girl hiding out here on a Friday night,” Bond said drily from behind him.

Q jumped and spun to face him. Bond did that deliberately, he liked scaring people. “What makes you think I want to meet a _girl_?” Q snapped, then realized that he probably shouldn’t have said that and hurriedly added, “Or that I don’t have one already.”

Bond had raised an eyebrow at the first part of Q’s response, and snickered at the second. “Well, as to the second, because you never call anyone to tell them you’ll miss supper, or be late, or what have you when M needs you to work late– or you choose to. As to the first…” Bond sat down on the edge of the desk Q was working on. “D’you mean to tell me you’ve been trying to flirt with me, Q?”

Q flushed. “Of course not! Believe me, I know your interests, you’ve made me listen often enough.”

Bond smiled lazily, in a way that did NOTHING good to Q’s ability to process code. “Oh, I don’t know, you’d think no one could fancy both.”

Q had already   followed his usual method of dealing with sexily scary Bonds by turning resolutely back to his computer, when his brain finally processed what Bond had SAID…

Q turned back around and tried to say something. “…” Q ended up sitting there staring at Bond with his mouth hanging open.

“Jim didn’t have any trouble thinking I might be willing, even after he listened in on my seducing that woman. In fact, he wanted me to demonstrate a few things personally,” Bond smirked, “but that wouldn’t be your interest, naturally.”

Q felt faint. He could actually FEEL all the blood rushing away from his head and down to his groin. What was left of his thought processes insisted on bringing up, in full detail, the last several times he’d had to stay on line while Bond had reduced some woman or another to incoherent whimpering- or, in one notable case, orgasmic screaming sufficient to warrant a police response.

“Q, if you’ve been trying to flirt, you’ve been doing a piss-poor job of it. You know, it didn’t even occur to me until I saw your reaction to my talking about Jim’s flirting.”

“You knew HE was flirting!” Q protested before he thought; then he coughed and went on, “Besides, it would be unprofessional…”

Bond leaned into Q’s personal space, closing the laptop with his off hand. “Jim was about as subtle in his flirting as a brick to the head, Q.   If I’d known you were interested I probably would have taken you up on it by now.”

“Oh.” It came out as a squeak. “Now that you know?”

“I’m deeply regretting the fact that I have to leave in less than 20 minutes.”

“We… could do a lot in 20 minutes…” Q said a bit breathlessly.

“True, but I’d rather take a bit more time, if I have the luxury.” Bond roughly grabbed him by his collar, “Still…”

Q got pulled in to the most possessive, violent, dominant kiss he’d ever experienced– his mouth wasn’t touched so much as plundered mercilessly. His heart started hammering, and he was quite sure he was going to die of lack of air, and he absolutely, positively, did NOT care.

Suddenly the maelstrom turned into a gentle kiss goodbye, and by the time Q stopped seeing spots and gathered his scattered wits, Bond was gone.

“God-damn it, Bond…” Q finally managed to mutter.

He staggered off to the bathroom to deal with the rather pressing distraction in his pants, then spent the next three hours trying-and failing- to concentrate on any programming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> such a complete dork... Q is adorable, isn't he? Like many people, Q figures anyone so (apparently) enthused about sex with women couldn't possible be interested in a guy.  
> its like people forget bisexuals, pan-sexuals, and demi-sexuals exist.  
> (Whistles innocently)


	7. Blood Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since Thursday is Thanksgiving,, and i had the (short) chapter ready, i thought i would update Tuesday.  
> Q runs into a bit of trouble. For once, the trouble isn't named Bond.

For the next several weeks? Q thought it was weeks, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep… it felt like weeks.   Anyway the entirety of MI6 had been topsy-turvy, and someone kept trying to hack through Q’s firewalls.  Q finally set up a fake shell account and let them break into that.  The unnerving thing was they went straight for things like “how to disarm security” and “how to track agents with their cell phone codes”; which meant they knew enough already to know what to go after.

M looked very grim when he told her.

“If Bond calls in make sure you tell him.”  M said as she dismissed him.

IF Bond called in. Bond was out on missions, and only called in on business.  There was no telling if, or when  he might call in. you certainly couldn’t tell when it was by Bond calling in,  he was as likely to call at  3am as at tea time whether he was in the same time zone with you or not.  Q already kept his work phone close by; he started sleeping with it.

Bond didn’t call in during the next two days.

M, however, sent Q out to deal with a technical issue at one of the safe houses up in Scotland.  Abruptly… with orders to “leave immediately”.  Q thought it stank but he left. 

The last thing he said to his staff was to not trust ANYONE except Bond, M, and each other.

Given that he was currently wounded and being pursued by the MI5 bodyguard who was assigned to drive him to the safehouse?  Q figured that was good advice.

Q was doing his best to  keep ahead of  the man, unfortunately “Scottish Moors” while picturesque, left a lot to be desired as far as  Q’s normal defenses were concerned. As a bullet ‘pinged’ sharply off a rock, he did have to admit it offered a fair amount of hard cover.

He had just finished scrambling with speed through some overly enthusiastic thorn bushes –hearing an armed man behind you cursing at the same thorns was somewhat inspirational‑when he saw the body.

It was the other MI5 man.

He had apparently gotten around in front of  Q, but then something  had stopped him, permanently.  Q noted abstractedly that  some people looked peacefully dead, and this wasn’t one of them.

_Bond. It had to be Bond._ Q felt his thoughts getting a bit sluggish and reached down to check  his impromptu bandaging.  It was soaked.

“There you are, you –“ the pursuing MI5 driver  came up cursing at Q and brought the gun into line.  His eyes widened as he saw the body. “You !”

Q lay there muzzily and watched as the man’s features hardened in rage. 

He brought the gun down  and aimed at Q’s groin. “Fuck quick,” he snarled.

Q was just being thankful that the blood loss likely meant he wouldn’t feel it when he heard a slightly muffled gun shot. 

_Didn’t feel a thing…_ Q thought and then realized why, as the MI5 driver toppled over backwards with a surprisingly neat hole in him.

_Bond_. Q smiled, and then blinked as the world wavered in and out of focus. 

-

There were two men in front of him. One hard looking man standing alertly with a compact rifle, and a rather pleasant looking man crouched down next to him. It was increasingly difficult to keep them in focus.

“Would you,“ the pleasant man  asked in a conversational tone, “Happen to be called Q?”

“You’re not Bond…” Q heard himself say from far away as the man faded in and out.

“Well… I’ll take that as a yes for now.” He said. “Moran, do be a dear and load him into the van. Try to keep him from bleeding all over it.”

Q muttered, “Good luck with that.” and fell into the dark.


	8. We’re all mad here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really have far too much fun writing psychopaths.

Jim had been ever so glad that the young man hadn’t died on the way to medical. It would have been a lot of trouble to go to for a dead body; I mean you can get those anywhere, really.

He was even more delighted when a quick check of his biometrics told him that this was, indeed, the brilliant young Quartermaster of MI6, and therefore ‘Q’.

Given the rather atrocious mess currently happening in London, and the dead men having MI5 identification, it didn’t take a genius to deduce that M had sent her prized asset to safety, only to almost lose him.

Really, they should thank him.

Several transfusions, an emergency surgery, and some rather worrisome issues with his recovery made the next few days… annoying.

Groups around the world, and a certain raven-haired detective closer to home, felt the brunt of his “annoyance”. Most of them, of course, would never know where the  sudden deaths and improbably ill fortune came from, but it cheered Jim up and, as far as most of his employees were concerned, that was all that mattered.

He had briefly considered sending M a note about misplacing valuable assets, but no; she had NO sense of humor.  He had made a few contacts in Parliament, though.  Now that the shooting was over they’d give her a right royal grilling over this fiasco, and her missing computer genius would just add to the problems.

Which left James.

Brutal, Cold, Calculating, Transparent James.

Oh, he was bloody brilliant in many ways‑ certainly no Holmes, but who was, really? Still… he didn’t hide his feelings nearly as well as he thought he did.

He was attracted to Jim, but he was actually FOND of Q.

Which meant that  not only had he acquired a highly valuable intelligence asset, which any  agency worth knowing in the world would pay  highly for,  but  possibly the best bait in the world for  his favorite  blue eyed killer .

The world could scarcely get better.

“Sir? I think you need to come down to medical.”

Jim didn’t like it when his personnel sounded concerned. It usually meant delays and complications.  He stalked into the room with his alphabetized asset.

Looking around everything seemed alright… but the doctor and one of the security nurses were looking at the bed with some concern.

“What’s the problem?” Jim asked quietly.

The Doctor flinched, “I’m not sure it’s a problem, exactly, Sir, but you did ask to be informed if anything unusual happened.”

“And?” Jim kept his voice level with effort.

“We switched him to a lighter sedative to bring him  up out of it, and he seems to be  rather incoherent.  We sometimes do get people talking under this level of anesthesia; it’s why they use it for interrogations, but…”

“But?”

“He may have sustained some brain damage, sir.  He isn’t making any sense at all.”

“That,”  Jim sucked on his lower lip, “would be… unfortunate.”

He was debating who could be shot over this, when Q started mumbling.

“You see, sir? A lot of it isn’t even real words,” the secure nurse said worriedly.

Jim leaned down and listened.  Slowly, very slowly, an angelic smile spread across his face.

“Never send a monster to do the work of an evil scientist… or vice versa.” He stood up smiling happily.

The Doctor and the nurse both looked as though they were hoping it would be quick, at least.

“He’s making perfect sense, gentlemen; you just don’t know the language.”

They both looked intensely relieved.

“I want recordings running as usual.  Even if you don’t understand it, it’s insanely valuable information.” Jim wrinkled his nose up and hugged himself.

He’d thought that the world could scarcely get better, and then it did.  It got SO much better.

“Take very good care of him, Doctor. I want to be here when he wakes up.”

“At least a day before he’s really  fit-“

“Awake, Doctor.  I want to be here when he is awake.  And have copies of the room recordings sent to me directly in the meantime.”

“Yes, sir.”

_Oh James, you have such WONDERFUL taste in bait… I may just keep the both of you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Never send a monster to do the work of an evil scientist… " is a quote from a Bugs Bunny Cartoon
> 
> If you want to know, Q was essentially babbling in "techno babble": bits of computer languages, technical jargon, science, etc. rather incoherently and jumbled, but... Jim knew what he heard when he heard it.


	9. Through the looking glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q wakes up after surgery .  
> TW: Non consensual drugging, hospital environment, etc. Mostly talk and a bit of a recap

The first time Q opened his eyes‑that he remembered, anyway‑ everything hurt, and the world was an incomprehensible blur, but he could understand enough to figure out he was in a hospital.

The second time he opened his eyes, the pain was down to a dull, but pervasive, ache, and he could see someone sitting by the bed.  They were blurry, but the wrong color clothes to be a nurse or doctor.

The third time, he realized he was restrained to the bed‑ _that kind of makes sense, don’t want me pulling out stitches or tubes, I guess_ ‑ and it smelled like someone had recently used disinfectant.

“Are you awake this time, do you think?” said a pleasant male voice. _It sounded familiar_.

“Yes.” It came out in a croak.

The blurry figure immediately held a straw to his lips. “Here, sip this.“

He did. “Thank you?” 

The blurry figure started dabbing something on his lips, salve of some kind. “You were intubated –surgery‑ and then kept under for a bit.  Your throat will be raw.  Nothing for it, I’m afraid.”

The blurry figure – _bless his soul_ ‑ put Q’s glasses on him. They felt too light, and the world got a good bit less blurry, but not really great.  He reflexively tried to reach up to adjust them but his hand was tied down.

“Sorry,” said the less blurry figure, “can’t let you off restraints just yet.  Among other problems, your wounds could re-open.”  He adjusted Q’s glasses. “Better?”

“Yes.”  Q got a few more sips of water. “Still kind of blurry.”

“Your glasses, I am afraid, didn’t survive.  I got you replacements from the prescription on file.”

_Oh, of course._ “Oh, I guess the doctor didn’t put the new prescription in the file, yet.”

“Oh dear, I just pulled it from your MI6 medical file.  Is it recent? Government bureaucracy moves at a snail’s pace I’m afraid.”

Warning bells started going off in Q’s head. _NO one in M’s department would have said that: they just said “agency files” or something; therefore this wasn’t M’s people_.

The blurry figure laughed, “Was it something I said?”

Q realized the various monitor’s rhythms had changed and tried to force himself to calm down. “No, just… I hate hospitals, and I hate not being able to see clearly.”

“Part of that isn’t the glasses, it’s the medication, you know.”  The man giggled slightly. “You are a fairly good liar, Q, but not that good.  What suddenly made you realize there was a problem?”

“The way you talked about the files.” Q sank back into the bed resignedly. “So who has me? The MI5 people were trying to shoot me; I can’t imagine they would get me to hospital.”

“Guess.”

“How stupid do you think I am? I’m not giving you any more information than you already have.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“One of the MI5 traitors was dead….” He pulled desperately at foggy recollections. “The other was going to shoot me…”

“That’s right,” he said encouragingly.  He had a tone like someone praising a bright child. “And then?”

“Someone… shot him… not who I expected.” Q had vague recollections of two men, neither of them Bond, then nothing.

“No, not my darling, blue-eyed James.” The man laughed.

Files and information flooded Q hard enough to hurt.  Bond talking about the man M called a psychopathic killer. He was a brilliant hacker, who flirted with him… _Oh dear God._

“You’re James Moriarty.” Q hoped, desperately hoped, that the man merely intended to sell him to the highest bidder. He’d have to be in one piece for that.

“Please, any friend of James can call me Jim.”

“MI6… would be interested in my return. Unharmed,” he hurriedly added.

“MI6 doesn’t interest me,” he said pleasantly. “More to the point, my extremely valuable friend, is that JAMES would be interested in your return.  He left rather abruptly, you see.”

“I thought you tried to blow him up?” Q blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Well, yes. So?”

Q couldn’t think of any kind of response to that.

“In any event,”  Jim said pleasantly, “you are alive and recovering nicely, thanks to me, and my people. So now that you’re awake, I can contact James and have him come get you.”

“Have him…” Q squinted at him enough to bring him into focus a bit more.  _Unfortunately, yes, that was Moriarty_. “You’re using me as bait to blow him up again? He won’t fall for that.  Besides, how would you even get word to him?”

“Oh, I see!” Jim patted him carefully on the arm. “No, no of course not. I have some things I need him to do for me, and you’re the bait to get him to hear me out.  Then of course I hope to recruit him.” Jim paused thoughtfully. “He also really HAS to demonstrate some of his bedroom techniques… in person.”

Q flushed. Memories of that kiss flooded him.

“Oh my goodness you ARE adorable! I can see why he likes you.  I just want to put a collar on you and call you squishy!” Jim laughed delightedly. “I bet you’ve spent months imagining what it would be like, and poor James never had a clue.”

“No… no never,” Q whispered, feeling faint.

“That kiss must have been a shock then. Do you know I’ve never kissed him?”

“How?!” Q tried to sit up‑ it was a VERY good thing the restraints stopped him. He gasped and went white with pain.

Jim muttered about Sherlock, and injected something into the IV line.  The pain eased and shortly afterwards a warm, relaxed, floating feeling came over him.

“Did you know,” Jim said in a soothing, sing-song voice, “that in addition to being adorable, a bit of a fool, and a brilliant computer genius, that you are highly susceptible to hypnotics?”

“No…” Q was a million miles away in a land of syrup.

“You are...” floated the pleasant voice.  _He liked the voice. It was nice_. “You told us all sorts of good things.”

“I did?”

Jim gently tousled his hair and took his glasses off. “Yes, yes you did.  Including all about how James kissed you.”

Q smiled happily and remembered it.

Jim kissed him softly on the forehead and whispered, “Pleasant dreams… I’ll make them come true if I can.”

_That was nice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q is very very smart, but... he isn't a field agent, and he is essentially helpless.
> 
> Comments are my life blood, especially since i am stuck home instead of at a convention because of migraines.


	10. Fools Rush In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is missing, time is passing, and Bond is running out of options   
> and then a girl shows up.

Bond had been told in no uncertain terms to vanish until called for.

“And stay away from London, Bond. I have my hands full with Parliament already,” M had said before she turned him out.

M was fighting for her political life‑possibly her actual life‑ in Parliament, and nothing Bond could do would help. His hands itched for a target.

So he’d obeyed orders and left London.

It had taken days after the attack on HQ to find out that Q had never made it to the safe house. Bond reasoned that the safe house was in Scotland, and therefore “not London”, and had started there. A few carefully chosen questions‑and finding out how long someone could hold their breath while having their head submerged‑ later, he’d found the fake safe house that Q had been taken to.

Dried blood, in alarming quantities for someone of Q’s size, and the evidence of a fight, led him to a trail of torn clothing and evident pursuit.

_Bloody fool boy, he’d gone through the thorn brush as badly as you could: leaving bits of cloth as a clean trail._

He’d followed the trail, dread coiling in his guts. This… was personal.  He didn’t like personal; it hurt.

When he saw the bodies‑ picked at a bit but generally intact‑ of the MI5 men who’d taken Q to the ambush, he’d a moment of betraying relief:  the sheer HOPE that it meant Q was still alive.  He took that hope and locked it away under cold murder and calculation.

One had been shot from behind and fallen where he lay. The other?  He still had a gun in his hand and he’d been shot from the side.  Bond calculated the trajectory and the only location with cover in that direction and whistled.

_Someone’s a damn fair sniper then._

If it was the traitors behind the men that had decided they wanted Q alive, they would have just called them; it obviously wasn’t one of ours; therefore, someone else had him. 

Bond easily found the tracks of a vehicle, probably a van. Easy enough to load a body… Q into it.

Equally obviously Q had been injured.

Bond knew you could lose a lot of blood from a pretty easy to treat wound, or it could be a really bad one.  He hoped some of that blood wasn’t Q; that would improve his odds.

The best hope was that some other agency had found out about the plot, and swooped in to pick up the prize. To make use of him, though, they’d have to give him computer access, in which case Q would get a coded message out somehow.

A cold, calculating voice whispered in the back of his mind, _Unless they just interrogated him. In which case, it’s a countdown until they think they’ve got all they can get._

 

Bond began methodically hunting down leads. It took time. Too much time.

Who would want him? Who wouldn’t?

Who would want him, AND be able to find out about the attack? A slightly smaller set, but not small enough. Too many possible directions.

He’d just finished killing someone‑no loss‑ that unfortunately hadn’t had any better answers, and was sitting in a pub on the Scottish coast trying to think, when a good looking young woman came up and sat down at his table.

Bond didn’t even spare her a second look. “Not in the mood,” he grumbled.

“I heard you might be looking for someone, Mr. Bond,” she said with the faint hint of Northern Ireland in her voice.

Bond looked up and locked laser like blue eyes on her. “I am.”

She handed him an earpiece and a phone, and ordered a beer.

He put the earpiece in, and turned on the phone.  It was showing a video of a somewhat the worse for wear looking Q, strapped to a hospital bed, waving a hand oddly. Bond idly noted that those weren’t his usual glasses, as a knot of tension dissolved in his stomach.

The audio came on in his ear. Q was singing in a slurred fashion, in time to his waving hand, in a duet with someone.  They were singing some kind of drunken mathematics and computers song.  Bond thought it sounded like something he’d heard down in Q branch before. The video pulled back.  The man he was singing with was Jim.

It felt like ice.  It felt exactly like being plunged in ice water so cold you couldn’t catch your breath.  Bond had been tortured that way, he knew the sensation;  he just never knew you could feel it sitting in a pub staring at a phone.

Once they finished that song, Q seemed inclined to start another one, but Jim put a finger over his lips.

“James will be along soon,” Jim said cheerfully. “Won’t that be grand?”

Q shook his head and answered pleasantly, if a bit unsteadily, “He’s not stupid enough to do that.  I’d do that, I bet.  He’s a professin… proffeshun… He won’t do that.”

Jim leaned down and kissed Q softly on the lips; Q didn’t seem surprised.  Jim straightened up and looked at the camera and smiled. “Oh, I think he will.”

The video turned off.

Bond looked up from the phone to find the young woman drinking her beer, and reading a paper.

“Do you have anything to say?” Bond was counting backward from ten; the urge to break her into pieces was overwhelming.

She looked up. “I don’t know anything, Mr. Bond, except that I am to take you to a meeting, and someone else has you from there.”

“And my friend?”

She looked at him thoughtfully. A touch of pity showed at the edge of her eyes. “I was selected to do this, Mr. Bond, because I am expendable. I’ve been given a fair sight of money to deliver a phone, and the message, and to drive you to the next stop.  If you kill me‑which I was told is possible‑ that goes to my family.  I know you have a friend, I know someone has him, and he’s supposedly alive. I don’t know anything else.”

“What’s to stop them from killing you once they’re done with you?”

“Nothing.”

The anger returned to its waiting, coiled in his muscles.  Killing her might help momentarily, but it wouldn’t get him Q. “Right, let’s go then.”

They got into a rental car, and drove down the coast.  The girl didn’t talk, and Bond had nothing to say.

They met up with a van, somewhere in the back side of a sheep farm, well after midnight.

She said, “I understand this is your stop, Mr. Bond.”

He got out and stretched. She was pulling away before the door closed completely.  Bond idly wondered if the car would explode.

“Hello again, Mr. Bond.” The man from the roof, the one that worked for Moriarty, stepped out of the van.

“Mr. Moran.” Bond nodded. “Nice sniper shots on those MI5 men. The distance and windage were impressive.

“Thank you.” He nodded. “One does like a challenge.”

“Q?”

“It was touch and go for a bit, actually. Jim has some damn fine medical though.” He looked thoughtfully at Bond. “He wouldn’t have made it, otherwise. He got hit in the guts.”

Bond winced. “All right, if that’s true it’s impressive. What proof do I have he’s alive right now?”

Moran handed him a phone.

“Bond,” he spoke into the phone without preamble.

“James, darling,” Jim’s voice, so familiar, came over the line. “May I say you have extraordinarily good taste in bait?”

Bond blinked a few times. He’d forgotten how very odd it was to talk to him. “Do I?”

“The codes to M’s secure servers? The  security keys to most of the branch‑ everything until you get to Mycroft’s office really‑ he’s an utter treasure.”

“Computers aren’t really my field,” Bond said slowly. _Dear God let him be bluffing._ “But I don’t think he’d have that all in his head.”

“Oh, but he does! As I said, darling, a treasure.  A veritable fluffy-haired myopic jewel.” Jim  chuckled, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, James, but I have a fondness for long curly hair in men.  It doesn’t mean I don’t still want you back, though. I could become fond of short hair, too.”

Bond gritted his teeth. “I still have no proof that he’s alive right now.”

There was a series of clicks as phone connections were made. “Put him on the line, gentlemen.”

“H-hello?” Q’s voice sounded tired, and a bit rough.

“Q, it’s Bond.  Are you safe for the time being?” Bond hoped that Q had drilled on the emergency codes. He wasn’t a field agent after all.

“Oh dear God.” Q sounded aghast. “You know it’s a trap, what the hell are you doing?”

_Nope, didn’t remember a single one of them._   Bond sighed, “Trying to get you out alive, Q.”

“Uh, actually Jim’s been…” There was a lengthy pause.  Bond had started to worry when he continued, “He’s been very odd, but he hasn’t hurt me.  I was shot pretty badly before he got to me.”

There were some clicks on the line and Jim’s voice again, “So, James, I apologize for underestimating you, I truly do. So I’m going to ask you to let Moran bring you in to talk to me.  I have a business proposal for you.”

“I don’t think there is anything you could propose-“

Jim interrupted, “Look, James… I could have had you killed on the way there, couldn’t I?”

“True.”

“And no one has shot you…”

“Also true.”

“So just let Moran give you a nice tranquilizer shot, you have a nap, and then we’ll chat.  Perfectly reasonable.”

Bond couldn’t help it, he felt that mad adrenaline kick in. “Jim, NOTHING you propose is even slightly reasonable, but let’s say I do that. How could I believe you’d let him go?”

“Do you have anything to lose by listening to my proposal, James?” Jim sounded oh-so-very-reasonable, “After all, I could easily have had you killed.”

Bond bared his teeth, “Jim, only from you is a comment that ‘I let you live’ flirting.”

Jim dropped his voice into a purr, “And only you, James, think almost being killed is a turn on… it’s why we get along.”

Bond didn’t want to admit he had a point.  He hung up the phone and turned to Moran, who was standing there looking wary.

“Let’s get on with it.” Bond said rolling back his sleeve.

Moran gave him a practiced shot, then asked him, “One pro to another: you going through all this for that kid?”

Bond looked thoughtfully at him. “One professional to another? No.  Some of it’s for Q, some of it’s just to see how it plays out.” Bond felt the edges of his vision going as Moran walked him into the van. “Your boss is rather convincing.”

Moran barked a laugh. “He’s a brilliant lunatic, but he pays well.”  It was after he thought Bond was unconscious that he added, “And for some reason, he likes you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in an upcoming chapter (not anywhere yet) there will be some very trigger capable things. I will be alerting you to that. when they occur they are still NOT graphic, (Implied, referenced, close calls) but you should be prepared to skip a chapter.  
> this will be clearly marked.


	11. One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mental conditioning, non consensual drug use, manipulation.

The thing is, Q knew he was being brainwashed: it just didn’t help. He’d always thought of brainwashing as people hurting you, but this was far more effective.

The nice people gave him pain medicine, and took care of him, but the only thing they would talk to him about were his medical needs and basic comfort.

No computers.

No clocks.

No television.

No conversation.

Except Jim. Jim would come and talk to him. 

Jim did puzzles with him; he was frighteningly smart, and enjoyed a lot of the same geeky obscure references Q did. Jim was a bloody wizard at card counting, better than he was by far, and taught him three ways to cheat that  he was fairly certain would get by most casinos. They did word games and Jim usually won, but not always.

Sometimes Jim gave him the other drugs.  At first Q hated it and tried to argue; after a while he didn’t.  He didn’t always remember what happened after those.  Things would get soft, and syrupy, and Jim would talk to him.  After the first couple of times, though, it was mostly about James, and sex. At least… that’s what Q remembered.

Jim kissed him a lot, but it was always just a soft, reassuring kiss. Jim had soft lips. Usually with Jim assuring him that James would come get him.  Jim… seemed fairly convinced that Bond liked him.

Jim was very sure about that.

Once, under the syrupy drugs, Q had told Jim how jealous he’d been of him.  He’d described the way Bond’s eyes crinkled up and how he’d said the crown jewels photo suited him.

Jim liked that.

Jim told him that even if he kept James‑Bond‑ he would share.  In fact, Jim had a bit of a kink about watching people‑ which made sense, really.

Q told him the truth, that watching people was usually much more interesting than actually dealing with them; Jim agreed. Except, Q had to add, for kissing Bond: that… was better.  Jim liked hearing about it.

Jim told him he had a bit of an unrequited crush on someone else.  That made Q feel a LOT better about Bond. It also explained why he would be willing to share, he supposed.  The fellow was apparently not interested in Jim at all, which seemed odd, because Jim was so interesting, but whoever his crush was he was very smart, almost as smart as Jim, but not as sexy as James.

Q had no idea how long he’d been here. Some part of his brain said it couldn’t have been too long, since his guts still hurt so much whenever the drugs started to wear off.  Jim ‑and the doctors, when they talked to him‑told him he was lucky to be alive.  He knew enough about wounds to know that was true.  He owed Jim his life.

The part that worried him was that he was bait.  He didn’t want Bond to be hurt, but… Jim didn’t seem to want to HURT him. 

In any event, Bond wouldn’t risk himself trying to get Q. M would never allow it anyway. It was more likely M would order the whole facility taken down so he couldn’t be questioned or used against them.

Jim told him softly that he was wrong.  “James is very fond of you, and James is very curious‑like a cat‑so he’ll come get you. Trust me”, he’d say kissing Q gently. “James will come soon.”

Q thought Jim was wrong.  It was the one tiny fragment of thinking that he could hold onto.  The world didn’t revolve around Jim, and Jim wasn’t right about everything. Even if Bond liked Q‑ even if he and Bond might have someday had the sex that he kept dreaming about‑ Bond would never walk into a trap. Not for anyone.

Jim was wrong.

Then the weirdest thing happened: one of the nurses came in with a cell phone.  They NEVER had phones. 

“There’s a call for you.” He said.

Q was wondering if this was some new kind of hallucination when he had the phone held up to his head.

“H-hello?” _Was it Jim? Jim never called, but maybe… maybe he couldn’t come in person and didn’t want him to be lonely?_

“Q, it’s Bond. Are you safe for the time being?” _It was Bond. It couldn’t be Bond._

“Oh dear God.” Q was utterly aghast. “You know it’s a trap, what the hell are you doing?” _He has to be trying to get the location to bomb the place, or, or… Jim isn’t right… Jim can’t be right…. He can’t be right about everything… he can’t be._

Bond sighed, “Trying to get you out alive, Q.”

“Uh, actually Jim’s been…”  _saying you would do just that.   He said you would.  He said you would walk into a trap for me…. You should run… but Jim was RIGHT, and Jim said he didn’t want to hurt him, and Jim said they could be together…._

Q realized he’d better say something or Bond would think Jim was hurting him.  “He’s been very odd, but he hasn’t hurt me.  I was shot pretty badly before he got to me.”

Q looked confusedly up at the nurse, who took the phone away and hung up.

He walked out, leaving Q alone with his mind spinning.

It wasn’t very long before Jim came dancing in.  Literally, dancing.

“I DO wish you were better,” Jim smiled happily at him. “I’d pick you up and spin you around, you’re SUCH wonderful bait.”

“You were right…” Q said as the last shreds of his old reality fell apart.

“I always am,” Jim said smugly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He was swinging a foot happily. Q liked that: Jim being happy meant Jim stayed longer. Jim put on his lip treatment.

Jim got out the syrup drugs and Q waited patiently.

“You know,” Jim said thoughtfully, “we could talk without them.  I bet you’re better enough to not need them.”

Q blinked confusedly, “Alright. If you say so, Jim.”

Jim leaned down and kissed him. “James has gone with the first agent. So he’s coming. I told you he’d come.”

“You did.” Q blushed,. “I thought you were wrong.”

“Tsk!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know better, now, don’t you?”

“Yes, Jim. I’m sorry.” Q shook his head. “You were right.”

Jim kissed him again. “The first agent delivered the phone you spoke to him through.  They’ll take him to the second agent.  From there he’ll get tranquilized and searched and brought here.”

Q frowned, “Why do you need to tranquilize him? Or search him?”

Jim ruffled his hair, “Because he’s a killer, and it will make him feel better.”

“It will?”

“Oh, certainly. If I let him come here awake he’d feel obligated to report the location! That would be awful. This way he doesn’t have to feel guilty.” He wrinkled his nose up happily.

“Oh, that makes sense.” Jim was quite right, that way he could honestly say he didn’t know where he was taken. “I’m sorry, that’s silly of me, I should have realized.”

“It’s alright, Q.  The pain medication and all, it doesn’t help people think.”

“So what… what happens now?”  A faint shadow of worry crossed his mind. “You... you won’t need me.”

“Aww, don’t be worried.” Jim leaned down and kissed him. This time he let the kiss linger. “You are precious and valuable, Q, and I plan on keeping you both.”

Q tried to put thoughts together, he probably just didn’t understand. “I thought, I thought Bond would come get me?”

Jim gently stroked his hair. “He will.  You’ll stay here for a bit, because you still aren’t well, and then you’ll go back to MI6‑ and I’m sorry to say it won’t be fun; they’ll debrief you.”

Q made a face. “Oh, yes they will, won’t they?”

“Just tell them I kept you drugged up and we did cross word puzzles and I asked you about James a lot...” Jim smiled. “Don’t forget to tell them I got all the passwords out of you while you were in surgery.”

“You… want me to tell them that?” Q winced; the pain was starting up again.

“It doesn’t matter, and it will help them believe you.” Jim frowned at his expression and put something in the line.  He re-applied the lip balm to himself, and dabbed some on Q.

“Then what?”

“Then everything will go back to the way it was, except you’ll be with James.” Jim smiled and kissed him. “And I’ll get to watch.”

Q nodded slowly as the syrup closed over him.

“And then later we’ll all be together again.”

“That… will be nice.” Q reached his hand up and patted Jim’s hand. “And I’ll help you with your boyfriend too?”

Jim kissed him deeper than he ever had before. “Yes, yes you will. Let me help you remember what to do…”

 


	12. A Gesture of Goodwill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Moriarty demonstrates a bit of power

Bond woke up naked and lightly secured to a –rather comfortable‑recliner of some kind.

“Well, it’s better than that table I was on last time,” he said resignedly, as he opened his eyes.

“Oh yes,” said Jim delightedly, “much better! But this time I had a lot of advance notice. Are you awake enough to stop trying to kill people?”  He came over and sat on the edge of the recliner.

“I kill people when I’m awake, Jim; I thought you liked that about me.”

Jim laughed. “Yes, but you were fighting when we restrained you. You broke Claremont’s nose.”

“I didn’t break his windpipe? Sloppy. I blame the drugs.”

Jim leaned down and kissed him lightly: he tasted like pomegranate and mint.

Bond thought, _What the hell,_ and kissed him back, hard. He noted with some amusement that he’d managed to startle him.

“Well, that was unexpected!” Jim said breathlessly.

“Try me with my hands loose.” Bond grinned.

“Alright,” Jim said and unlocked him.

Bond had to admit he hadn’t expected that. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you right now?” he asked, sort of idly curious.

“Oh, the usual failsafes, “Jim said lying back across him and looking up at him with that deceptively soft  face. “But I prepared a gesture of good will once I was sure you were on route.”

“Q?”

Jim laughed, “M.”

Bond sat up and shoved Jim off of him. “You do NOT have M.”

“Oh? Wasn’t she fighting for MI6’s continued existence in Parliament?” Jim  smirked.

“Yes.”

“Call her.” Jim looked amused and recited her car phone number at him.  Bond already knew that one, of course; Jim had just proven there was no point in NOT giving it away.

 

 

M had gone in for one more day of grilling by the select committee.  There were eight members on the panel, most of who had been baying for her head. Two of them had been loudly and firmly arguing for eliminating the department entirely and privatizing the entire thing.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep things going.  Thankfully none of them had gotten wind of the missing Q or it would have been all over. Equally thankfully Bond had apparently been restricting his actions to fairly subtle searching for Q‑ subtle for Bond anyway.

She walked in and something had changed:  she could feel it.  Some of the members were under tension, others seem to have relaxed.  They’d reached some kind of decision; that was obvious.

The quietest member of the committee spoke up, “We have come to a decision.”

_Obviously._

“Since most of the problems were outside of your department, and several members of your department were instrumental in cleaning it up, it has been agreed that you will get six months to attempt to put your house in order.”

M almost couldn’t believe it. This was a hundred times better than she could have hoped.  She glanced at the two loudest negative voices: one of them glared at her as though she was personally responsible for shooting his dog; the other simply looked amused‑ that worried her.

“This committee is not closed, Madame;  it is simply put on hold.  Your department will be reviewed again in six months, sooner if there is cause, and we expect to see significant progress.  Otherwise, we will proceed with other plans.”

“I understand,” M nodded. “Thank you.”

She saw the concern on her driver’s face when she came out so unexpectedly quickly.

“It went… surprisingly well.” She nodded at him and got in the car.

“Home?” he asked, which for him meant headquarters.

“No.” She gave him the address.

He just raised an eyebrow and nodded.

She was just settling back in the car when the phone rang. She let it ring once and then answered. “Yes?

“Hello, M.” It was Bond.

“How did you get this number?” she asked sharply.

“I’ve always had it,” he answered calmly. Her jaw twitched.

“Did things just take an unexpected turn for the better?” Bond asked.

She stared at the phone.  She had just come from one of the most tightly secured meetings in England.

“Yes, they did. How did you know that?”

“Just checking. Thank you.”

The line clicked off as she snarled “Bond!”

She had to get to Mycroft, quickly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think about it, of course, it's rather terrifying. this was the point.  
> i will be updating Thursdays and Sundays for a while.  
> Comments are my life.


	13. Love You Like Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dub-con, Canon typical violence, hypoxia

Jim took the phone back. “See?”

“You go to a lot of trouble for a second date, Jim.” Bond was looking around the room: no windows, one door, empty except for the recliner‑which had been modified for restraints‑ and a bed, similarly modified. _Music was playing softly in the background,_ Bond realized _, it sounded Irish._

Jim smiled and leaned back across him. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“So, that’s a gesture of goodwill. What do I have to do for the rest of it?”

“Are you always so direct to the point?“ Jim pouted at him.

“Yes,” Bond said, but his eyes were crinkling.  Jim smiled back up at him. _So James was enjoying their games too._

“I have a few people that need to be shot.” He held a finger to Bond’s lips before he could say anything; it reminded Bond eerily of the video with Q. “They all happen to be people MI6 would like shot, or at least don’t care about.”

“Really, and that’s all?” Bond reached up and grabbed Jim’s wrist.  Jim didn’t flinch, or try to pull away.

“Q can’t be moved, James. Not until there’s a secure hospital for him to recover in.”

Bond slowly let go of Jim’s wrist. _He was right. Until M had her department back in order, there was no safe place to put him._

“I want to see him.” Bond said standing up.

Jim held up the phone. “He’s not HERE, James. I’m not stupid.”

Bond nodded. “I had a bad experience with a girl. She had someone she cared about held hostage, in exchange for her continued loyalty.  I’m not her.”

“James, James...” Jim sighed and leaned back onto his chest. “Honestly, I said I would let him go, and I will. But I’m not letting him go until you have a safe place to put him. I didn’t waste all those resources just to have him die because he was put in a regular hospital.”

“Fair enough, then what?” Bond asked, feeling eerily comfortable with Jim leaning into his bare chest.

“Then he gets handed off to your people, while you finish up a job, and then you go home.”

“Planning on something more inventive than a car bomb?”

Jim laughed. “I am about to do something I NEVER do, James.”

“What’s that?”

“Admit I was wrong.”

“True,” smirked Bond. “You should have expected me to find it.”

“No‑well, I mean that too, I did underestimate you, I’m sorry about that‑ good heavens, that’s two apologies‑ anyway, I didn’t appreciate you. I’ve had time to reconsider and I was wrong. I shouldn’t have tried to kill you.  It’s just gotten to be a bit of a bad habit.” Jim looked teasingly at him through his long dark lashes.

Bond arched an eyebrow and then smirked at him, “That can happen. Bad habits.”

Bond grabbed him and pulled him in and kissed him like he meant it. Jim kissed back, violently.

Jim came up for air, and put his finger to Bond’s lips again. “No.”

“No?” _He was certainly flirting enough._

Jim sighed, “You make it very tempting, James, but you forget, I read people.  I can’t help it, you know, it’s what I do. You’re just trying to get my guard down and gain my trust.  You’re interested, but…” he shook his head.

“So? You certainly weren’t disinterested,” Bond said, licking his lips and tasting a bit of blood where Jim had bitten him.

“Oh, I plan on having you in my bed, James, and I will, but not yet.” He put on some kind of lip treatment‑ pomegranate and mint, probably‑looking very effeminate and harmless. “I’m going to go on my way. You’re going to get to go see Q‑ and remember you don’t have any place better to put him yet‑ and then you’ll get the briefings…  and your clothes.”

“I don’t think Q wants to see me in my altogether.”

Jim laughed so hard he started to choke. Bond ended up patting him on the back.

“Really?  You…? Oh come ON, you can’t be serious?!”

_Damn, so he knew Q was interested_. “He’s a rather uptight fellow. Took me a good bit to figure out.”

“Q would probably have fantasies for YEARS if you walked in nude, but you know, honestly, I don’t want him moving around that much.” Jim grinned at him. “I’ll get your clothes sent in after I leave.” Jim smiled, “I’ll ride along on the mission like I did last time.” He managed to make it sound like an invitation to sex.

“Oh, before I go.” Jim walked up and kneed James hard in the gut with absolutely no warning; his body language gave nothing away and Bond never saw it coming. Jim’s targeting was precise: Bond’s solar plexus spasmed and his lungs emptied their air out as he fell.

Jim grabbed him by the hair as Bond was gasping for air and covered his mouth with his own. Bond tried to breathe, but all he got was pomegranate and mint, and the air from Jim’s lungs. Jim kissed him thoroughly, possessively, and without letting him breathe until Bond saw spots. Then he dropped him and walked out.

Moran walked in a moment later with Bond’s clothes, and looked at him curled up on the ground gasping for air. He just grinned. “Don’t ever underestimate him, mate.”

“I’ll… remember… that,” Bond said as Moran helped him to his feet.

He got dressed, unarmed of course, and went out of the room. He had to admit, though… that was one hell of a kiss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since i am almost finished with the sequel, i will be updating this one more frequently.


	14. Hidden Telegraphy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond finally gets to see Q

Bond got walked out to a loading dock into the back of a truck.  He had a brief glimpse of a very anonymous looking warehouse before the truck was closed up.

Moran led him around some cargo boxes to a surprisingly comfortable set of seats. “Sit tight and buckle in.”

Bond did. His gut still ached where he’d been hit, and every time the truck hit a bump he felt it.

He turned it over and over in his memory, but… nothing.  Jim hadn’t shown the slightest indication that he was going to hit him. Kiss him? Sure, but the strike had taken him completely by surprise. The hypoxia had certainly enhanced the kiss in some ways.  Bond began to get a more visceral understand of why some people got off on breath play.

“Mind my asking you a question?” Bond asked after a while.

“You can ask,” Moran nodded.

Bond had developed a sort of liking for Moran.  Nothing personal, or anything, but there weren’t that many professionals in the world; they understood each other.

“I never saw it coming,” Bond said thoughtfully. “No false humility; I’m good, and I never saw it coming. The kiss, sure; not getting hit in the gut.”

Moran had raised an eyebrow at ‘the kiss’ and then nodded slowly. “You can’t read Jim. Unless he gets so upset it starts showing, anything you think you’re reading is what he wants to show you.”

“That’s… How the hell did he avoid getting recruited?”

“I don’t know.  For that matter, I don’t know that he didn’t.”

Bond looked at him curiously, “I saw the file on him after the hotel incident.  We have most of his background.”

Moran just grinned. “Remember what I said: If you see it, he wants you to see it.”

Bond raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

Moran leaned back and closed his eyes. “Look at it this way.  The man has people  who know computers cold, more to the point he can hack people the way I shoot.  He’s also pretty damn thorough with paper trails. Whatever background anyone has on him? It’s the one he wants you to have.  Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Bond sat quietly for the rest of the ride. That was a damned unsettling thought.

After several hours of driving, and only a few apparent turns as far as Bond could tell, the truck backed up to a loading dock and opened up.

A man with a bandaged nose glared at Bond as he got out. _Must be Claremont._

This warehouse had been refitted into a medical lab.  Bond couldn’t see much of it, and it had the atmosphere of having been hurriedly emptied. Moran took up a position at the door to the “hospital” area.

A dark, possibly middle-eastern, man in scrubs escorted him from the door. “Mr. Bond? I’m one of Q’s nurses.”

Bond had long ago learned to only argue with his own nurses. He stopped and nodded.

“Please wash up.  Do NOT stress the patient or meddle with any of his medication.  Under no circumstances is he to be moved without full medical staff on standby.”

“That bad?” Bond asked washing his hands at the sink.

“Not any more, no.  We almost lost him a few times though at first.”

“Gut wound, I heard.”

The nurse just looked at him. “That is an understatement.”

“It’s just you?”

“No, Mr. Bond.  Everyone else has been moved out of sight so you cannot identify them later. I am officially nonexistent, so it doesn’t matter.” He nodded, “I will go in first so he doesn’t try to sit up abruptly.”

He opened the door to what looked like a mundane hospital room, complete with window blinds -closed of course.

He walked over to the unmistakable figure of Q on the bed, and put a hand on his shoulder. “You have a visitor. If you try to sit up I will sedate you,” he said, and put a pair of glasses on Q’s face.

Bond walked in, slowly. “Q, if you try to sit up, _I_ will sedate you, and it won’t be as neat.”

Q almost tried to sit up anyway.  The nurse elevated the head of the bed a bit and Q was peering more myopically than usual at Bond.

“Bond…” he whispered. He sounded shook and a bit stunned, then his voice snapped back to its normal tone and he continued, “You bloody idiot! What do you think you’re doing walking into a trap like this?”

Bond grinned. _So they hadn’t taken all the fight out of him yet_. “Well, you see, my toaster isn’t working right, so I figured I’d pop ‘round and have you fix it.”

While Q was spluttering and making outraged noises at him, the nurse left.

Bond pulled up the only chair. “Seriously, Q, I’ll get you out of here.”

Q sighed. “Of course you will. Jim said so.  I thought you were smarter than that.”

Bond grinned at him, “Yeah, you said so on the video.”

Q looked curiously at him, “What video?”

“The one I saw that proved they had you.  Jim said I would come get you, and you said I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“Oh, that could have been any time I talked to him then.”

“You two were singing.”

“Doesn’t narrow it down, much, Jim likes to sing.” Q looked thoughtful. “The room is bugged, of course.”

“Yeah, I figured. Were you really shot in the gut?”

“Yes. I bled out a lot. I remember that.  And Jim’s people shot the two men after me somewhere in there. I’m still not sure how I survived to get to… wherever we are.” Q reached a hand out. Bond took it. “I’m so glad to see you, even if you are an idiot.”

“Yes, I am a bit,” grinned Bond. One of Q’s fingers tapped once against his wrist.

“Think we can just waltz out of here?” Bond asked gently.

“No,” Q answered, and the finger tapped twice.

_Once for yes, twice for no, easy enough._

Bond stood up and moved over, blocking any possible view of their joined hands. “Mind if I look at the damage, Q?”

“Go ahead.” Q answered, and the finger tapped out Morse code, as Bond looked.

_“Do you know Morse?”_

Bond tapped back once.

“It looks like they did a good job patching you up, actually.”  Bond surveyed the young man’s stomach and side: bullet wound, emergency surgery‑ probably in the field, and then some evidence of later work in a real hospital with better equipment.

 _“I talked under anesthetic.  Then classic conditioning attempts,” Q_ tapped out against his wrist as Bond looked, and then pulled the blanket back up.

“They say I’m lucky to be alive,” Q said.

“Judging from this? You are.” Bond sighed. “Which means Jim was right; you can’t be moved until we have a secure hospital.”

Bond noted with some worry that Q’s hand twitched slightly when he said ‘Jim was right’.

“Jim… said I would have to stay here until M got the hospital secured again.” Q frowned up at him, “How bad has it been?”

“Pretty bad,” Bond admitted.  “I’m mostly concerned about you, Q. Do you think you’ll be safe here?”

Q looked at him as if he were an utter idiot; Bond was relieved to see such a normal expression.

“If they wanted to do anything to me at all, I’m in no position to stop them. So far, it’s mostly been boring: no television, no books, nothing.”

_Classic conditioning, right. Jim visiting is all he has to look forward to._

“I’ll get you out as fast as I can.”

“I know you will.”

Bond turned to go, and Q tugged on his hand, but didn’t tap.

Bond leaned over. “Yes, Q?”

“I wasn’t imagining it, was I? I haven’t been creating fairy tales to keep myself sane, have I?  You did kiss me?”

Q’s finger tapped out fast, so fast that all Bond could do was memorize it to decode later.

“I kissed you and I meant it, Q. I would have a lot earlier if you’d-“

The nurse came in and rather firmly stated, “His heart rate is elevating too much.”

Bond let go of Q’s now limp hand and stepped away from the bed.

“See you around, Q.”

Q grinned back at him tiredly, “Try to bring all the equipment back in one piece, and not JUST one piece of equipment!”

Bond was escorted back to the truck, and handed a file.

“Your first job,” Moran said,. “You’ll be contacted after.”

He pretended to go through the file while he ran back over the last message he’d gotten from Q.

_“I’m your leash, Bond, but you’re mine. He wants us both. If I’m not out soon, I never will be.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty clever, really.  
> comments are my life.   
> this story will be updating daily until it ends (except for when i am out of town) since i am currently working on part 5 in the series.


	15. Things Beginning With M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Mycroft Holmes

His first mission was in the Middle East. It was short and boring‑except for Jim’s phone call part way through‑  and Bond REALLY hated the gritty sand getting in to the rifle parts. He didn’t have a chance to contact MI6.

His second mission was in South America. He’d been put on a plane, and when he got his ‘luggage’ at the other end all of his equipment was in it.   Bond dumped it all and went to the nearest CIA outpost, got himself scanned for bugs –they found three‑ and called in.

“It’s about time you called in.” M sounded more annoyed than usual.

“You always fuss so.” Bond used the phrase to tell her that the line was in no way secure. “Anyone would think you were my mother.”

“Making a crack about my age? You do like to live dangerously, Bond.  Get back home immediately.”

“I have a few errands to run first.”

By the time she’d snapped “Bond!” into the phone he’d hung up

She had information, it was urgent, and she needed him to call in on a secure line.

He got re-outfitted by the CIA outpost‑ he didn’t want to know what the CIA would ask out of MI6 for the help‑ and found a burner phone.

He called a number he had been told to use only if the mission, and most of the country, was actually going up in flames.

“Mycroft,” said a clipped, bureaucratic voice.

Bond blinked a few times. “I have a message for M.”

“Go ahead.”

“I think it may be for you, too.”

“How… unusual.”

“Jim Moriarty‑“

 The voice on the other end swore abruptly; then, “Sorry, do go on.”

Bond nodded and said, “Jim said that Q had, in his head, ‘all the codes to M’s secure servers. The security keys to most of the branch‑ everything until you get to Mycroft’s office‘.” Bond coughed, “And here I call an emergency number and get someone named Mycroft.”

There was silence on the other end. If Bond listened carefully he could hear muffled swearing. It sounded vehement.

Bond drily added, “Does that count as a good enough emergency to use this number?”

“Jim Moriarty has Q? And he said Q had that much in his head?”

“Yes, sir.  I managed to get to Q, and he confirmed that he had spoken under anesthetic.  He also indicated that he was being brainwashed‑‘conditioned’ was the phrase he used‑ and that Jim wanted ‘both of us’, not just me.”

Mycroft made a hissing noise. “That… is unutterably bad, Mr. Bond.”

“Confirmed that Q will need a secure hospital to be moved; I got a good look at his injuries. Jim wants me to kill a few people in exchange for his release; the first one was done, the second has been on our list for a while anyway.”

“If Moriarty wants him shot, I suddenly find whoever it is to be intensely more interesting.”

“We need to get Q out, so priority is on a secure hospital.”

“It would be simpler to kill him,” Mycroft said very practically.

“If I knew where he was.  They took excellent precautions against my finding out.”

There was a lengthy pause. “You let yourself be captured?”

“Yes.” Bond added, “As a gesture of goodwill, when I came in, Jim did something to take the pressure off M.”

“Is that why? I’d wondered.” Mycroft hummed slightly. “Bond, don’t let him get to you again: Moriarty is insanely dangerous.”

_That’s one reason he’s that interesting,_ thought Bond, but all he said was, “Yes, sir.”

“If anyone is already on the list, go ahead, but gather as much data as you can. I’ll tell M.”

Bond hung up. 

Whoever Mycroft was, his system was more secured than M’s.  Whoever Mycroft was, he knew Bond either by voice or by deduction‑Bond had never said his name. Whoever Mycroft was, he presumed authority to give a double-O orders, and to authorize killing Q.

And Bond had never heard of him before Jim mentioned him.

But the first target had been, and the next target was, already on the list.  A list that amounted to “As long as you’re in the neighborhood, kill him.”

It would keep Jim from doing anything too drastic, as long as Bond was playing along, and buy M‑and whoever Mycroft was‑time to develop a plan.  Bond just hoped that plan involved rescuing Q, not just blaming a large explosion, with Q in the middle of it, on one more unexploded bomb from the war.

His phone rang. “Bond.”

“This is very bad,” M’s familiar voice came over the line, and Bond relaxed just a hair.  He suddenly realized he’d half expected it to be Jim.

“Yes, it is. Q’s holding out surprisingly well, but‑“

“Moriarty has…” ‑M paused, and Bond went very, very still‑ “a track record of obsessing on people.  He arranged quite a bit of trouble when he obsessed on a fellow named Sherlock Holmes. We don’t even know if you two have replaced his interest, or just added to it.”

“Who?”

M sighed, “He’s another certifiable genius, also probably certifiably insane, but usually harmless.  He does detective work, and occasionally consults for law enforcement… or at least he did before Moriarty.”

Bond shrugged. In general, if they didn’t need to be shot, and weren’t causing any trouble, they weren’t in his line. “Well, someone should alert him, or just put a watch on him and see if Jim picks him up.”

“Again.” Mycroft’s clipped voice came over the line.

_M was letting him listen in? This was pretty far over my pay grade then._

“Pardon?”

“At this point, everyone involved with my brother has been kidnapped or targeted by that lunatic.”

“The, uh, harmless lunatic is your brother?”

“Yes, all the family brains and none of the sense,” Mycroft said in a resigned tone. “What the HELL?!”

Bond could hear the phone drop on the other end, and distantly, as if it was on a television set, came Jim’s voice:

“Did you miss me?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: upcoming chapters (intermittent) contains non graphic but triggery descriptions of criminal behavior. They will be tagged. You can always skip just those chapters.


	16. Win or Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty is used to playing games with Sherlock. Sometimes he forgets there's a new player in the game.

Bond hung up.  From the sound of things, they had their hands full.

The target had one of those houses where a subtle approach was insanely difficult.  This was what made Bond better than most: he didn’t just have one method.  Oh, he loved the stylish, subtle, saunter in and saunter out methods… but when brute force was called for, you got it.

Fortunately it WAS South America; he simply liberated a few pieces of military hardware.  One shoulder launched missile –ok, three‑ later and the house was a smoking pit along with everyone in it.

Bond drove off and picked up The Times of London, waiting for Jim to contact him. Thinking.

He sat in a café and did the puzzles; after a few minutes a truly terrifying grin flashed across his face.

He got a second phone, found a modest hotel room, and dialed a number.

“Hello, Sherlock, took you long enough!” Jim’s voice answered.

“I’m afraid my hair is still devastatingly short, Jim,” he laughed into the phone.

The shocked silence on the other end warmed Bond to the bones.

“Understand you decided to go public again?”  Bond asked politely.

“You CAN’T!” Jim spluttered. _Oh this was FUN._   “You CAN’T have gotten this number…  Did Sherlock give it to you?”

“Jim.” He put sincere reproach in his voice. “I thought you said you apologized for underestimating me.”

“How did you get this number?!” Jim had a beautiful Irish lilt to his voice sometimes.

“From the Times, of course,” Bond said as though he was bored. “This target is done and I was tired of waiting for the next.”

Bond grinned as the seconds ticked by.

 “Bond, do you know I believe I have actually made the same mistake twice.  That never happens.” Jim’s voice was full of wonder.

“So?”

“Do you want to talk to Q?”

“I wouldn’t mind if I could, Jim,” he settled back in his chair, “but honestly I thought I’d talk to you, too.”

Jim laughed, a little weakly for him. “Ooh flattery! What would you like to talk about?”

“Well, you know, after that last kiss, I was wondering what sort of things you like.  I admit I’ve never been into breath play myself, but you did give me a bit of an education in its charms…”

Jim started getting that breathlessly girlish tone Bond remembered from his earpiece. “You could just drop this silly business and come back; we could talk in person.”

“A deal,” Bond said, letting himself sound extremely amused, “is a deal, Jim. Unless you’re going to send Q home right now…”

“You don’t have a hospital secured.”

“No, not yet,” Bond admitted. “So, Jim… either hand me my next assignment, or…”

“Or what?” Jim purred.

“Or you could tell me what, exactly, you want me to demonstrate in person.” Bond let his voice drop into a threatening growl. THAT voice would have sent anyone sane running for a gun; Bond didn’t think Jim would run.

That got a breathy noise out of him. “Oh I DO like you James.  I don’t know whether to let you continue, or put you down and break you.”

“I prefer being on top, but that’s part of the issue, isn’t it?” Bond said idly, realizing he’d been hard as a rock for quite a bit. “We’re too much alike, Jim, and we can’t trust each other enough to let our defenses down.”

Jim laughed. “What are you picturing, James?”

“Me, paying you back for the last kiss”‑ Bond grinned ferally‑ “with interest. You?”

“Continuing that last kiss… with interest.” Jim’s voice was razor sharp.

Bond practically purred into the phone. “That… will just have to wait until we conclude our deal, Jim.  Then we’ll see which one of us gets our wish.”

“Mmmmm,” Jim hummed throatily.

Bond wondered if he was playing with himself too.  He supposed it depended on whether he was in private.

“Give me a few minutes, then call back, will you James? I don’t think I should go near Q in this condition.”

Bond snorted, “In the state you’re in? You’d break him too easily, Jim; it wouldn’t even be fun.”

“You’re right, darling.  Give me ten.” He hung up.

Bond thought about risks, and calculations, and keeping Jim’s attention long enough to get Q away from him.  After that?  _After that one of them was going to lose, and in this game losing was fatal._

 _Sometimes_ … mused Bond… _sometimes so was winning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief, they are SUCH a cute couple.


	17. A Philosophy Of Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A critically important chapter

It was more like fifteen minutes later when Bond called back. Jim was glad; he’d taken rather longer to get himself back under control than he’d expected:  James was rather inspirational.

“Bond.” The throaty growl on the other end of the line brought his attention right back to where it had been a few minutes ago.

“So you wanted to talk to Q, darling. What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing I have in mind for you,” James laughed. “He’d break… or faint.”

Jim smiled into the phone, “I could work on bringing him around…”

There was a pause and Jim wondered if he’d finally frightened Bond.  If the threat to his little pet was getting to him. He wasn’t sure what he thought about that.

“Jim,” James’ voice took on a solemn tone. “Let me share with you something I learned a long time ago.”

“I’m listening, James.” Jim smiled. Here was where James tried to bargain, or threaten, or talk all about silly things like morals or ethics.  Jim had thought he was better than that; he was a bit disappointed.

“There aren’t that many people like us in the world‑really very few, all things considered.” Bond’s voice took on an uncharacteristically thoughtful tone. “The only way to deal with all those other people, even the interesting ones, is to appreciate them for what they are, leave them alone to go about their lives, use them, or kill them.”

“You… have an interesting theory,” Jim said slowly into the phone.

“Q is bloody brilliant.  He’s a bit of a prig sometimes‑thinks he knows everything‑ but some of that’s just age.  He’s never going to be anything even close to us, Jim. If you try to make him into something he isn’t, you’ll just lose what he is.

“I happen to think what he is, is valuable, but if you don’t? Put a bullet in his head, because all you’ll do is ruin him otherwise, and he’ll be no use to anyone.”

Jim stood very quietly in the hallway outside Q’s hospital room for several minutes.  Bond didn’t say anything.

After a while Jim put his best face on and walked into the room, phone line still open.

“Q? Are you awake?”

“Hmm?” Q blinked at him muzzily, then smiled happily, “Jim! You’re early.”

“I brought you a phone call.”

Q looked like a hopeful puppy. “Bond?”

Jim held the phone to Q’s ear.

“Bond?”

“Hello Q, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no it’s great!  Are… are you ok?”

“Why don’t you ask Jim to put the call on speaker?”  Bond  suggested.

“Speaker?”  Q looked puzzled. “Bond…” He looked up at Jim, “Bond says to put the call on speaker?”

Puzzled, Jim did so. “Alright James,”‑Jim sat down on the edge of the bed and started petting Q’s hair idly‑“the line’s open.”

“Q?  Have Jim show you the puzzle he put in the Times. He seemed surprised I found the phone number he coded into it.”

“What?” Q looked perplexed.

Jim started to explain, “I coded my phone number into the Times puzzle for‑”

“Well, yes, but why are you surprised?” Q asked in confusion. “We do that all the time.”

“I think Jim didn’t expect me to solve it that fast, but it was only a bit harder than the ones you put in for me.”

Q snorted. “The ones I put in for you were bloody obvious or you never would have gotten them.”

“In my defense, you’d been making them more difficult,” Bond said pleasantly. “This one wasn’t too bad.”

“Jim is very good at puzzles,” Q said slowly, then smiled hesitantly at Jim. “He brings me some when he visits.”

“I mostly wanted to check in on you.  I have to go on another mission and I’ll be out of touch.”

“Thank you, Bond.”

Jim put the phone back to normal and told Q he’d be right back.

Jim stood well away from Q and talked to James. Why yes, target five was, geographically, quite close to his previous target, and certainly they could switch the order…. And Jim would be delighted to ride along like the first time… He’d arrange to get an earpiece proper to James when he got to the target.

Jim went back in and sat down with Q again.

“Bond isn’t into computers, and cryptography isn’t his strongest point, but he’s not bad at it,” Q said. “He’ll try to shove it off on me, if I let him, but he’s quite capable… at least for the simpler things.”

Jim handed him the cut out crossword puzzle from the Times.

“I really hadn’t intended this for James,” Jim admitted. “It never occurred to me that he would see it, much less solve it.”

Q looked it over thoughtfully, muttering answers, never even reaching for the pencil.  Jim had to admit he was impressed.

Q read out the number in just a few minutes.

Jim petted his hair and kissed him. “Well, of course YOU solved it, Q.”

Q beamed at him.

“I’m going to go arrange some things and then I’ll come back and we’ll have a bit of tea.  After that I may have to go help James with some things.”

“Of course, Jim. Thank you.”

 

Q lay back on the bed, exhausted.

He knew that part of the disorientation he was being subjected to was the lack of time cues. Between the drugs, and the lack of any way to measure time other than Jim’s visits, he had lost track of days.

The crossword puzzle had been from the Times; it had the date, and Bond had solved it “quickly” ‑which meant that was likely today‑ and he’d called the phone number immediately.

He knew the date.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the question is , did he miss that (possible) or does he not care? (also possible)  
> Tomorrow's chapter is potentially quite trigggery.


	18. A Day At The Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter contains non graphic discussion of rape, sex trafficking, and etc. if this is a trigger you can skip this chapter and go on to the next.
> 
> i will be busy this weekend so i am updating for the entire weekend where possible

“Seb…” Jim asked thoughtfully on the line. “What do you think of Bond?”

“He’s dangerous, and you should let me shoot him.” Sebastian Moran sighed, “I don’t know why you ask me; you won’t take my advice.”

“What if I could bring him around?”

“Sir,” Moran began…

Jim smiled. _Sebastian was saying ‘Sir’ in that affectionate way that indicated ‘I think you are being an idiot but I’ll follow orders.’ It was adorable._

“If it were my call, I’d shoot Q, or dump him if you prefer, and shoot Bond‑ twice, just to be certain.”

“But why?  I mean you think I should just shoot Sherlock and John and the rest of them, too, but you’re more… emphatic… about this.  What’s the difference?”

There was a distant gunshot as Moran took out his target and resumed speaking into the phone. “Bond will kill you.”

“I don’t THINK so…” Jim sang into the line.

“I don’t mean it that way, Sir…” His voice softened slightly. “Jim… I mean that even if he does like you, he’d take the shot.”

“That’s also what I like in him, Seb.”

“You have lousy taste,” he grumbled as he broke down the gun and put it into the case.

“Not really, Sebastian; I picked you, didn’t I?” He hung up.

Moran just shook his head as he left his sniper’s position to head to the next assignment _.  Jim was a damn fool romantic._

 

Jim made sure Q was well settled in, the hypnotics were running, and the recordings were playing, then went off to his room.

“Hello, James, did you miss me?”

“Actually, I was delaying things until you got online.” Bond sounded amused. “I didn’t want you to miss any of it; this one looks like a different kind of fun.”

“Oh?”

Then Bond flipped on his camera.

Jim’s mouth parted in wonder… and a small bit of annoyance that his people hadn’t gotten word to him. _There was a carnival._

This target was a trafficker in drugs and people, and usually when he had a party it was the same old, same old boring nonsense… _but there was a carnival!  Right there in his yard!_

“Something told me you’d prefer I wait, Jim,” Bond’s voice came over the line, but Jim wasn’t really listening.

_He wasn’t permitted to go to the carnival, even though everyone else did._

_His father sneering at him about how he didn’t deserve it, he hadn’t earned it. “Good boys go to the carnival, are you a good boy?”_

“Thank you James,” Jim breathed. “That’s lovely of you…”

James spent hours wandering through the carnival with Jim.  There were rides, and games, and James won a stuffed walrus, which was the silliest thing, throwing darts at balloons.

It was the most perfect and wonderful evening ever…

And then… as the guests started to leave, James made it better.

“Jim, I know he’s not your target, but would you mind if I took someone out quietly?”

“Of course not, James.  Why would I ever mind?”

“Didn’t know if he was important to you.”

“No one here is important to me, darling, except you.”

“Do you mean that, Jim?” _Really?_

“Oh yes.” _Really._

“Well then.” Bond smiled and walked over to a burly man heading to a car with a very young girl, made up to look even younger than she was. She looked frightened, but stoic.

“Send your ‘daughter’ off for some candy.  I have a business proposition for you,” Bond said walking up casually.

“Oh, she can stay,” the man said, running his hand down her back.

Jim looked him over critically. Samuel Wardley‑ Jim called up the files in his mind‑United States, likes them young, involved in government security contracts. He was wearing an expensive long coat, and a purple shirt, with a scarf draped around his neck.  He probably thought he looked marvelous, but his clothes were strictly second rate and they didn’t suit him.

“No taste,” said Jim disgustedly into Bond’s ear.  “There’s no excuse for that.”

“As you say,” Bond smiled at Wardley. “Thought you might want to trade her in for a newer model.”

“Oh? What did you have in mind?”

“I’m bored; your girl looks more fun.”

Wardley nodded, and instead of heading to his car, they headed into the house.  Wardley certainly knew where the bedrooms were, Jim noted; he was heading right to them.

“So where’s yours?” Wardley asked as they got to the room.

“Dead.” Bond looked at the girl and licked his lips slightly; she choked off a scream. “I thought I might buy you a new one, the current batch doesn’t look like enough fun for me.”

Wardley smiled.  He looked excited… _Damnation, how had Jim ever missed this about him? He resolved to have words with several of his people._

“I don’t like cameras…” Bond said, glancing around the room.

“There aren’t any in this room,” Wardley lied.

Jim checked; yes, all of the camera feeds were showing a loop of the hour previous.

“Well, there aren’t NOW,” Jim snickered into Bond’s ear. “Except mine.”

Jim typed a command and the true output of every camera in the room showed on his laptop.  He started choosing the best views….

James took off his jacket and peeled out of his shirt.  Bond’s undershirt had built in gun holsters, but Wardley didn’t seem surprised. Jim presumed a lot of the men here were armed. Wardley did the same, fastidiously hanging his clothing up on hangers.

Bond nodded at the girl. “Strip, then, wouldn’t want to get your frock dirty.”

She started to strip, hands shaking. Bond just watched her: she had burn marks here and there, the beginning of breasts, and whip marks.

Bond looked amused and nodded at Wardley. “Care to join us? You can help hold her down, looks like you might have a taste for it.”

Wardley pulled her into bed between them, and held her hands behind her back.

“Is she a screamer?” Bond asked casually as he pulled out a knife.

“Oh yes.”

“Good.”

He drew a thin light trace down from her collarbone to her navel. Pinpricks of blood appeared here and there, and she started to beg, “No, Please, I’ve been good!”

 “Aw, no darling, I want you to scream…” Jim heard more than a hint of Scotland in his voice when he said it.

In the next heartbeat the knife had gone past her by a hair and into Wardley’s throat.  She screamed then, although it cut off into frightened panting as Wardley gurgled behind her.  He let her hands go, to try to claw at his throat.

“C’mon, darling,” Bond said, pulling her gently off the bed.  “Wouldn’t want to get any of that on you, would we?”

He held her wrist as he leaned back over the bed, twisted the knife in Wardley’s throat, and pulled it loose.

Bond pulled the naked girl up to him and kissed her on the forehead. “Now then, can you be a good girl and scream on command?”

She nodded at him, eyes wide.

Bond leaned on the door to the hallway and let go of her wrist. “Get dressed then.”

Jim had forgotten to even speak.   _It was art. It was beautiful_. He was a hair’s breadth from cumming in his pants.

Bond got dressed, and before they left the room he cut her dress down in the front, just enough to show the blood.

After that Bond went through the few remaining people like a dance.  Some just died quickly, quietly, efficiently; others he took more time with: offering them the girl‑he’d bought her from Wardley, of course‑wanting to ‘talk business’, or just cornering them in quiet rooms. The girl screamed, and pleaded, and begged, whenever James told her to-which covered their death cries, if they made any.

Jim couldn’t look away. It was magnificent.

Afterwards, he took her back to the room with Wardley’s dead body in it.

“Are you going to kill me now?” she asked him quietly. Jim thought there might have been a trace of hope in her voice.

“If you like.” James was taking off his jacket and shirt again. “But I think you might prefer to get out of here, eh?”

“James?” Jim said breathlessly. “What ARE you… Oh.  Oh you beautiful darling, you.”

James put his shirt and jacket into a bag, and got Wardley’s distinctive purple shirt and great coat out.  He draped the scarf over his face, just a bit, and took the girl down to the car.

The guards didn’t even look twice.

Bond pitched his voice higher and slurred, just a bit, as he told the driver to “Go home.”

The driver died just a few miles down the road and Bond drove away, with the girl clutching the stuffed walrus in the back seat.

Bond turned off the speaker between the front and back of the car. “Did you have a good time, Jim?”

“Immensely,” Jim purred in his ear. “I can’t begin to describe how wonderful it was. May I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Jim.”

“What are you doing with the girl?”

“I thought I’d send her home to mother,” Bond said with a smirk.

“Why not kill her? She saw too much.” Jim paused. “Sentiment?”

“Oh, just a bit, Jim.  There’s no point in lying to yourself about it, you know.  But do you remember what I told you, before I spoke to Q?”

“I remember everything,” Jim said. “So you plan on leaving her alone to go about her life?”

“No. It’s far too late for that, for her, Jim,” Bond said lightly. “She’ll never have a life to just go on with, not after that.”

“Then what?”

“I’m going to appreciate her for what she is: a brave girl, who’s a good actress, stays calm, does what she’s told, and doesn’t mind seeing people die- at least those that deserve it.

“And I’m going to use her, or M will. She’ll be a brilliant agent someday.”

There was a short pause as Jim thought, calculations spinning through his mind. “Your philosophy is growing on me, James.”

“I’ll get her back to the hotel, and we can talk.”

Bond drove the car through the dark, in silence for a long time.  He didn’t hear the sounds of Jim working quickly on his computer.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Jim’s voice suddenly breathed in Bond’s ear.

Bond felt a faint chill. “Oh?”

“One of my people will help you get her some clothes, and get you her passport.  I’ll book the two of you a flight back to England for tomorrow.”

“What about the other targets?” W _hat about our deal?_

“Someone needs to take your little girl home, James… besides, M is about to need you.”

Bond went very still, as he fought the adrenaline returning to his blood.  “Anything you feel like telling me about?”

“Someone stole a file full of valuable information, James darling.”

“That happens all the time,” James said slowly. “Of course, without Q‑“

“Oh no, you see this is a personal grudge.  M is the target.”

“And you have the file?” James asked, wondering what Jim was thinking now.

“No. It’s not my grudge,” Jim said idly. “I admit, I was planning on watching the show, for my own reasons… but I think I’d rather let you bring the curtain down early, James.

“I’ll let you know the price.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim just changed everything.  
> because this is the mid game of Skyfall, except Bond has been dealing with all of this....


	19. At What Cost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyfall, with a twist.

Bond showed up in MI6 with a little girl and a stuffed walrus. She held onto Bond’s hand and didn’t look at anyone else. Agents’ heads turned as he went into M’s office with her.

“Bond?” M didn’t sound quite herself.  Tanner was in the office with her, as was an attractive young woman with coffee colored skin. Bond’s eyes traveled over the unknown woman’s body: lean muscle under just enough curves.  He smiled faintly as he saw her return the look.

“I’m bugged, M, but the cameras are off,” Bond said, nodding at Tanner and the new woman.

M waved them to silence. “So we have someone listening. Why?”

“First of all, this young lady should probably go sit somewhere else for a few minutes, and then she’ll need a doctor.”

“Do‑” the girl started to ask and then shut her mouth and turned worried eyes at Bond.

{“Just for a minute, Jamie, can you go sit outside with the nice lady?”} James nodded at the new woman‑ “Can you sit with her? I’ll be right out.”

Bond was impressed, despite himself: the new woman came over, smiled down, and held her hand out to Jamie, but never spoke‑her voice wouldn’t be on the tape. Bond nodded at her and she left to go outside.

Bond turned to look at M, “I hear you’ve lost some important files.”

“Your hearing is acute, Bond.”

“Jim offered to help. I have no idea what the price is.”

“Trading one horrible situation for another doesn’t seem profitable.”

Jim’s voice purred in his ear, “Tell her it’s  Silva. Just that.”

Bond tipped his head slightly for Tanner to see the earpiece. “He says ‘It’s Silva’.”

Bond watched as M visibly paled. “That…” She swallowed and recovered her composure. “Is highly unlikely.”

“Jim said what was going on was an international disaster‑well, he put it a bit more colorfully than that.  Is it that bad?”

M looked down at her computer. “Five extraordinary agents dead, so far. Dozens, if not hundreds, in danger of being exposed. Yes, it’s that bad.”

Bond listened to his earpiece. “He says his price is personal, something from you, me, and Mycroft.” Bond watched the two of them twitch at the mention of Mycroft’s name. “And he’ll let us know what it is, after we’ve seen how valuable his help is.”

Bond then looked intently at M. “Speaking for myself? I’m nearly to mandatory retirement, M.”

“From field duty!”

“You know I’m no desk agent. If this is bad enough, one last mission and retiring? I’ve heard worse.”

“I can’t speak for Mycroft.”

“She can speak for herself,” Jim’s voice sang in his ear.

“He says‑“

“For myself, I agree,” M said looking grim. Tanner started to say something but the glare she leveled at him stopped him short. “The responsibility lies with me. If there’s a price to be paid for it, I’m paying it.”

“Good,” purred Jim. “Take the girl to this doctor‑“ Jim gave an address in London.  “I’ll contact you from there.”

Bond heard the line go dead and pulled out the ear piece. He put it on the table, and detached the microphone pick up and laid that next to it.  M smashed it with a paperweight, with perhaps more strength than Bond thought she had.

“That’s it, but I suspect he was off the line anyway,” Bond said relaxing just slightly.

“Who’s the girl?” asked Tanner.

Bond grinned at him, “I was going to ask you the same.” He nodded toward where the brown skinned agent had been standing.

“Eve,” said Tanner. “She’s quite good.”

“BEFORE you start bantering,” M growled, “who’s the child, Bond?”

“Rescued from being trafficked‑well after from the way she acts. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, high pain tolerance, no family, and she follows orders.” Bond’s voice softened slightly. “She had nowhere else to go, M. I thought she could be of use.”

M and Tanner exchanged a significant look. “Did Moriarty tell you to‑“

“No. She just belonged to a target. I’d mostly thought to either let her run, or put her down, until I saw how she handled herself.” He looked a bit awkward. “I may have become a touch fond of her.”

Tanner glanced quickly toward the waiting area where Eve was sitting with the girl. “She’s very young.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “I’d be more interested in her babysitter. Not that kind of fond.”

“We’ll get her to a doctor,” M started, but Bond cut her off.

“Jim gave me a doctor’s address. He wants her taken there.  Said he’d make contact. Just let me get some of my gear back, and I’ll take her.”

M nodded tiredly and sagged ever so slightly in her chair. “I will have to go tell Mycroft.”

Bond went out and walked over to the two of them. “Hello, Eve, nice to meet you.”

“Bug’s off then?” She had a beautiful voice.

“It is.” He held out a hand; and Jamie took it and stood up. He spoke slowly in English: the girl knew some, and she should practice.  “Jamie, we’re going to get you to a doctor, just like I said.”

“I don’t like doctors.”

Bond looked at her solemnly, “Neither do I, but sometimes you need them.”

“Should I come along?” Eve  asked.

Bond gave her the address. “Don’t take any action unless lives are actively in danger. We may be meeting a contact.”

She nodded and walked off briskly.

 When it was just them he switched back to Spanish. “Come on then, Jamie.  The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get you tucked away safely.”

“Will you be leaving me?” she asked as he drove them to the doctor’s office.

“After the doctor,” He said. “I have to do my job, and it would be too dangerous for you to come along all the time.  I was doing my job when I found you, after all.”

She nodded; he’d told her that. “Will you come back?”

He glanced over at her. _She looked so tiny in the passenger seat._ “Jamie, I won’t promise you anything I can’t guarantee. I don’t want to lie to you. I’ll keep coming back to make sure you’re alright as long as I can, though.”

She just nodded, and stared out the windows.


	20. turn, turn, turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter John Watson  
> and of course you can't have John, without the rest of them.

John Watson had been going about his day, finally gotten home to Mary, and just settled down to watch television, when his world was upended.

 Again.

By someone not being dead.

Again.

“Did you miss me?”  Jim Moriarty’s face was on every channel.

“Isn’t that‑“ Mary began to ask, alarmed.

“Oh sodding HELL,” John said putting his head down.

“I take it that is,” Mary said drily.

“I THOUGHT there’d been more police in the neighborhood.  I just didn’t know why.”

“What?” Mary looked at him oddly. “Before this? Why would there be more police?” She got up and went over to the gun safe and took out a pistol. She began expertly checking it over.

“I’d argue, but it’s probably a good idea,” John said tiredly. He checked his own pistol, never far from him these days, and put a knife in his boot.

“Hang on.” He picked up the phone and dialed a number very few people knew.

“Mycroft. Yes it is.”

“I see. How long have you known he was alive, you ‑”

“Suspected a bit longer, but he was accidently confirmed about 3 months ago when one of our agents ran into him on a job.”

“Why didn’t the agent SHOOT him?!”

“He didn’t know who he was.”

“How do you MISS him?!” John shouted into the phone. “He was in every paper, everywhere!”

“I have no idea. People are generally stupid.” Mycroft said tiredly.

“So he’s been in an unknown location, alive, confirmed, for three months, and no one told me?” He saw Mary’s eyes go wide.

“He… he may have shifted his obsessions a touch, Dr. Watson.  It seemed prudent not to draw you back into it.”

“He never ‘shifts his attentions’. The bloody lunatic is obsessed with Sherlock and I’m his favorite kidnap victim!”

“He kidnapped the chief computer expert from MI6, although it looks like he may have saved his life doing it, and he’s been playing our agent… using him as the reward.  Sound familiar?”

John sat down slowly. “Yes, yes it does.”

“I don’t want you, or my brother, dragged back into this.  You’ve already been under increased watch, we just doubled it.  I don’t know how much you know, but our manpower is spread very thin right now.”

“Sherlock told me what he deduced from the news: traitors in the ranks of some kind.”

“Two of them were trying to kill our computer specialist, when Moriarty picked him up. We still haven’t figured them all out.  Which means your guards are being assigned in pairs, from different groups, just in case.”

“Oh God…”

“I have to go, this took too long as it is. Please tell the others.” Mycroft hung up.

“Mary?”

“Yes, John?”

“Never let that gun out of your sight.” 

She stared at him. “It’s that bad?” She put a hand over her stomach.

“It’s worse,” he said. “Look at it this way: I’m beginning to be VERY glad that you aren’t Mary Morstan, charming civilian nurse; it wouldn’t be safe.”

John reminded her of Moriarty’s previous behavior, and explained that he was apparently doing this to someone else, now.  “Apparently Moriarty got the fellow because the agents assigned to guard him, tried to kill him.”

Mary’s eyes went wide. “Oh God, it’s a mole hunt.”

“What?”

“A mole, a spy within the ranks.  A double agent.”

“Well, yes.”

“So we don’t know if the people guarding us are working for Moriarty, someone else, or who they’re supposed to be,” Mary said flatly.

“Yes, that’s about it.”

“I quit to get AWAY from this sort of thing!”

“You picked the wrong fellow, then,” John said sadly.

They didn’t get much sleep.

When John went to the clinic in the morning, the increased security was obvious. He kept trying to be angry, or depressed, but he had to admit that it was… exhilarating in a way. His ordinary life obviously wasn’t enough anymore.  _God help me, I’m starting to sound like Sherlock_.

Mycroft texted him at some point with a curt: Sherlock is coming back to England –MH

He was just about to leave for the day when he was told he had a last minute walk-in.

“Look, I’m sorry but I don’t…” His first impression was that it was Moran, Moriarty’s pet assassin. After his jaw dropped open and he went for his gun, his mind managed to process that this was a DIFFERENT trained killer.

The man’s cold blue eyes never left John’s, but a motion made John look down.  He’d just realized that the motion had been the man moving a young girl, clutching a stuffed toy, behind him, when he realized his mistake.

The thrown knife took the gun right out of his hand.

He looked back up and the man already had a gun aimed dead between his eyes. The girl never made a sound.

“Now I don’t think”‑the man’s voice was calm, deadly, and gruff‑ “that you wanted to do that, did you?”

“Using a child to get close to me is a new low.”

“She needed a doctor.”

“What?”

“She… needed… a… doctor,” he said with a clenched jaw. “I was sent here, and I am rather upset about that right now.”

“Oh.” John slowly put his hands up. “I thought you were here to kill me.”

He managed to cock his head without taking his eyes off John. “Is that likely?”

“Yes,” John said carefully. “Or kidnap me.”

John could almost see calculations flashing behind those blue eyes. _And I am totally NOT being turned on by this, I’m not. Oh God…_

“Stay right there.” His voice gentled. “Jamie?”

“¿Sí, James?”

{“Go kick that gun away from him, please.”}

The girl walked over, clutching what John realized was a stuffed walrus of all things, and  carefully nudged his gun into the corner before coming back and  moving around behind the man.

“Now you are going to turn around and put your hands on your head, and then get down on your knees,” the man said. “I have no interest in shooting you, but I don’t trust you.”

John did as he was told. “There’s a knife in my boot.” He didn’t want to surprise the man. “I honestly thought‑“

“The odd thing is I believe you.”

“You do?”

John was efficiently patted down and handcuffed, then hauled to his feet and deposited on the examination table. The man carefully retrieved his knife, before putting his gun away.

“Jamie?” He held his arm out and she moved up to his side. His eyes never left John’s. “Do you usually shoot first and ask questions later?”

“No.” John felt a lot safer now that the man wasn’t aiming a gun at him. “It’s been a really bad day.”

“Heh.” The man’s lips quirked upwards.

“You…” John tried to think about how to say this, decided there WAS no good way to say this, and just blurted out, “You look like some killers I’ve known.”

“Occupational hazard, I suppose,” the man said, sounding more amused than offended, “since I am one. Meanwhile, your style and manner says military, and combat.”

“Royal Army Medical Corp. Late of Afghanistan, actually.”

“You always expect killers to walk into your office, or just today?”

“Occupational hazard,” sighed John, and then muttered, “At least since Moriarty.”

The smile hit his eyes this time. “That’s who gave me your address.”

“What?!”

“Jamie needs a doctor to look her over. Jim said to come here.” He paused. “And I might be getting a contact from him.”

“God-damned giggling lunatic!” John  grumbled.

“Yeah, he is, isn’t he?” The man still looked amused.

“You work for Moriarty?”

“It’s complicated,” he said. “I’m James Bond, MI6.”

John looked at the amused man and down at the girl. “I’d been told Moriarty kidnapped a computer fellow from MI6; he was using him as leverage on an agent…”

“Odd of you to be told that.” Bond tossed him the hand cuff keys. “Don’t move too fast.”

{“¿Is…Is it safe?”} The girl‑Jamie‑ asked him quietly.

{“I think so, he was just scared.  Stay close to me anyway,”} Bond said reassuringly.

John put the handcuff key down with the handcuffs. “I believe we got off on the wrong foot.  I’m Dr. John Watson.  I’ve been kidnapped a few times by Moriarty.”

“I believe that.  You look the sort that would interest him.”

“What? No! It was Sherlock he was after.”

John’s cell phone buzzed.

“Go ahead, like I said I’m expecting contact,” Bond said calmly, as though Moriarty wasn’t potentially texting him.

John had to steel himself to look at the text.  It said: Take James out back, Johnny. –JM. He sagged.

“And?”

“I’m to take you out back.  You should leave her, it could be another bomb.”

Bond just looked amused. “Thought you knew him? It’s not a bomb.”

“It was last time,” grumbled John, getting down off the table and heading outside. He was desperately afraid he would find someone’s mangled corpse.  He half hoped it was Mycroft’s.

Instead there was an ambulance gurney, complete with IV lines, and an unconscious man with long hair.  _Brown, thank god, not black._

“Q!” Bond started to move forward and stopped.  He looked carefully around and walked slowly up to the gurney.  He had almost no expression.  John could only imagine the thoughts that were going through his head. He picked up a piece of paper lying on top of the man and read it quickly.

“Oh, thank God.” Some of the tension went out of his shoulders. “Doctor, I need you to help me with him until I can call someone.”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bond actually looks nothing at all like Moran, but hey...   
> a reminder that Mary Watson (nee morstern) is pregnant.


	21. The Irish Ballad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm home sick, not working, and bored. have an early update.  
> Read the notes.   
> PS: I was a music major, and am an obsessive word/lyric junkie. if i ever mention a song (or use it in a title) you can safely assume it means something.

They moved the medical gurney inside without much trouble.  Bond handed John a file folder‑“Here, this is for you.” ‑and went back to looking at the patient‑Q‑ and reading the letter.

The file folder was a bare bones medical report: injuries sustained, surgeries, complications.  John whistled. “He’s lucky to be alive!”

“Yes, yes he is.” Bond looked over at him. “I have to call some people. Can you look after him?”

“Certainly.”  John started adjusting the feeds of the IV.  He’d been put under for transport. Once he had his medication adjusted, he started pulling back covers to look at the injuries.  Despite the complications listed in the report, he was doing very well, and looked well on the way to recovery. John went back to reading the file.

Bond called in.

“Tanner,” came the voice on the line.

“I have Q; he’s alive,” Bond said into the phone.

“What? Are you… no, of course you’re sure. How?”

Bond’s eyes flicked to the paper he was holding. “Jim says he had to move. This doctor is apparently known to Mycroft, and secure.”

“I… could you say that again?”

“This doctor‑ Dr. John Watson‑ is apparently former military, and is known to Mycroft. I was sent here at least partly so Jim could drop Q off with a secure doctor. I assume the clinic is bugged, even if my phone isn’t.”

“I’ll start things moving immediately.”

Bond hung up and looked back down at his note.

_“Darling  James,_

_After our last conversation I changed plans, and because of that I had to move. Johnny is a good doctor, a field surgeon in fact, as well as a fair marksman.  He keeps a cool head and he’s a fine, loyal hound (tell him I said so)._

_Since you couldn’t be certain of a secure doctor, I thought I would give you one.  Mycroft knows him, and could easily have told you he was available. Do scold him for me._

_I still expect you to keep your side of the bargain, plus the new one._

_With Love,_

_Jim_

_P.S. When Q wakes up he babbles. Do make sure no one without a security clearance is close by.  He also tells funny stories about you.”_

Bond walked back over.  John was starting to take the restraints off Q’s wrists when Bond stopped him.

“Don’t just yet.”

“Why not?”

“Well, first off, YOU got surprised and pulled a gun. When he wakes up in a strange place, what d’you think he’ll do?”

“Oh... oh yes, and he could injure himself.”

“Wait until he wakes up a bit, then I’ll untie him.” Bond looked at him with that unreadable expression. “How high’s your security clearance?”

John quirked a smile, “Dunno, I’m not cleared to know that.”

Bond chuckled and ran a hand up the back of his head. “Heh.”

_Ooooooh no, no no no this is NOT exciting me. Absolutely not_. “So,” he said, backing away from the‑ _dangerous, exciting_ ‑ fellow, “I can start looking over your girl.  Q won’t wake up for a bit.”

“Alright.  I rescued her from sex traffickers. She’s been hurt a lot.”

John’s expression went soft. “Oh.  Then perhaps it would be better if she had a female doctor. At the very least, I’ll want a nurse in the room.”

Bond’s eyes flicked to Q. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

John thought about it. “I know this sounds odd, but there’s a doctor who works in the morgue.  She’s helped patch Sherlock and I up a few times. I don’t know if she has an official security clearance, but we trust her.” John winced. “Moriarty pretended to be her boyfriend, or something, for a bit, to get close to Sherlock.”

“Is she dangerous?”

“God, no.”

Bond smiled lazily, “Then he wasn’t interested in her.”

John just looked at him. “You sure do seem certain about him.”

“In some ways? Sure. The rest?” He nodded at Q lying in the gurney. “Not so much.”

“We take them both to St. Bart’s,” John nodded firmly. “Molly’s there‑the pathologist‑and there are suites that can be secured.  I know a lot of the doctor’s personally; God knows we ended up there enough.”

Bond nodded and called Tanner back.  In short order there was a perfectly ordinary ambulance, that just happened to be sandwiched between several perfectly ordinary cars, full of perfectly ordinary people‑ who all happened to be armed and armored.

John tried desperately to stop grinning.

“Give it up, mate,” said Bond amusedly. The four of them‑ Bond, John, Jamie and Q‑ were in the back of the ambulance. “You’re just happy to get your action fix.”

John’s phone rang, which almost caused him to jump out of the ambulance. “Hullo?”

“John? You’re late. Are you alright?” Mary sounded worried on the line.

“Ooooh God. No, I’m fine Honey, I’m sorry I forgot to call. Can you put the dinner away?” John saw Bond looking like he was about to laugh, flushed, and looked away. “We had an emergency patient; I’m heading to St. Barts.  I… I may need to stay until he gets stabilized, and then there will be paperwork…

“Love you too. Sorry.” He hung up and put his phone away.

“She going to be ok with that?” Bond asked.

“Yes, actually. She’s… I’m very lucky to have her.”

“That’s good.” Bond looked sympathetic for a moment. “It’s hard to find people who can deal with… things.” He waved a hand at the surroundings.

At that point, Q started singing.  It was erratic, and kept fading off, so at first it was hard to make out, but eventually he was steadily and quietly singing.  He’d stop sometimes, skip from song to song, and was switching between languages fairly frequently.  Bond kept his recorder on.

They pulled in to St. Bart’s. John saw the security had cleared an ambulance bay, and there were heavily armed men… “Those are Army.”

Bond looked thoughtful as they  unloaded and were escorted through cleared hallways to a private suite. “SAS, some of them.”

“Ach faraor géar gear, Is mé an ceann gan chéill, Níor ghlac mé comhairle mo mháithrín féin, Nuair a dúirt sí liom tríd chomhrá ghrinn, Go Béal Átha hAmhnais ná triall ann…” Q ‘s voice kept fading in and out, but he was sticking to  one song at a time for longer and longer intervals.

 “What is THAT?”  Tanner had already cleared the room, and was standing there with a pleasant looking civilian woman and several SAS men.

“Hello, Molly,” John said at the woman.

“John… what’s going on?” She smiled. “If he’s singing, I don’t think he’s one of mine.”

John laughed. “No, Molly, apparently he babbles coming up from anesthesia.”

Tanner just looked appalled. “Oh that’s all we need. Has he said anything meaningful, Bond?”

Bond held up his phone... still recording. “Not that I’ve noticed. Random bits of music. Might be important to know what they are, though.”

“… Agus coinnigh agat féin ón bhás mé, Nó gan grásta Dé ní mhairfidh mé, Ar an tsráid seo i mBéal Átha hAmhnais.” Q trailed off into mutters again when he finished.

“Well, Sir,” said one of the SAS men near the door. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, that was a fair rendition of ‘Béal Atha h-Amhnais’. In any event, I’ve heard worse.”  He had a fairly pronounced Irish accent.

“Of what?” Tanner stared at him.

“Irish song, fairly popular, Sir, especially in bars.”

“Congratulations,” Tanner said drily, “you just volunteered to spot Commander Bond here. I hope your security clearance is high enough.”

Molly startled, “Security clearance?”

Bond raked his eyes over her once; she shivered but didn’t move. “Q has a head full of classified information, and he apparently talks his head off coming out of it.”

“I don’t think I want to be involved in that.”

John nodded at Jamie, “Actually, I was hoping you could help with examining the young lady.”

“I… I don’t really do that! I’m a pathologist!”

Bond drawled slightly, “That’s good, we’ll need pictures of her injuries and scars for evidence.”

Everyone got pretty quiet at that.

Q started singing again, in English this time, “About a maid, I’ll sing a song, sing rickity tickity tin, about a maid I’ll sing a song, who didn’t have her family long, not only did she do them wrong…  She did every one of them in, them in; she did every one of them in...”

Bond walked over and put one finger on his lips, the way Jim had done. Q stopped singing and turned his head to the side, smiling.  Bond… did not look happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://songsinirish.com/beal-atha-hamhnais-lyrics/  
> The Irish Ballad (the "drunken math song Q and Jim were singing earlier was also Tom Lehrer) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKbd_Ajkex0
> 
> and yes, Jim deliberately made a reference to the early case "Hound"


	22. The Return Of The Prodigal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Sherlock.  
> He really should have called sooner.

Sherlock Holmes had been recalled to London by Mycroft. He wouldn’t tell Sherlock anything over the phone, and Sherlock had no access to news, which left Sherlock in an incredibly irritated, jet lagged, and generally impossible mood by the time he finally got to Mycroft’s office.   He’d had to resort to drugs to tolerate it at all.

“I thought I wasn’t to come back‑”

Mycroft just turned on the recording. Jim Moriarty’s face grinned out at him. “Did you miss me?”

Sherlock nodded very, very slowly. “I assume that John‑”

“Has a 24/7 watch on him,” said Mycroft.

“We both know that won’t be good enough.”

“There’s... more.”

“Do stop being such a melodramatic prat. I can’t work without the facts, Mycroft.”

“He’s apparently kidnapped, or rescued, a computer genius from MI6,” Mycroft said in an annoyed tone. _Back just a few minutes, and Sherlock had his blood pressure up._

“What do you mean ‘kidnapped or rescued’, Mycroft?  It’s generally pretty clear which one you’ve done.” Sherlock’s voice practically dripped with contempt.

“There was an interagency issue...” Mycroft could see Sherlock losing interest. “Oh for Christ’s sake, Sherlock, pay attention!”

“Then try to get to the point.”

“The MI6 Quartermaster, Q, was being moved to a safe house.  His guards tried to kill him, and Moriarty’s men killed them.  Q is severely injured, and we are trying to get a hospital secured to get him back.”

“Moriarty has him?”

“Yes.”

“Then if you get him back, Mycroft, it will be either because he wants you to, or because he has no further use for him.”

“Do you honestly think we don’t know that?  He’s being used as a leash on someone else.”

“Ah? That’s more his speed.”

Sherlock closed his eyes for just a moment to think and Mycroft was shouting.

“What?”

“You fell asleep in my office.” Mycroft gritted his teeth. “Go home. Get some sleep, and then we’ll get you a proper briefing.”

“You’re the one who dragged me in, instead of letting me check on John,” muttered Sherlock.

 

As a result, it wasn’t until he woke up‑almost 36 hours after the broadcast‑ that Sherlock saw the Times of London, and made a phone call.

 

“Hullo, I wasn’t expecting you to be calling yet,” Moriarty’s voice came cheerfully over the line.

“What do you want, Jim?” Sherlock said into the phone.  He was more than slightly proud of how level his voice was.

There was a surprisingly lengthy pause on the other end, and then Jim’s voice was ice: “Oh, you…  NOW you call.”

A bit confused by the change in tone, Sherlock said, “You obviously wanted me to call‑“

Moriarty cut him off, “It’s been over a DAY, Sherlock.”

“It’s been almost 36 hours, but I‑“

“Couldn’t be BOTHERED to call me!” Jim’s voice was rising in pitch and he sounded coldly furious.

 

On the other side of the line, Moriarty’s henchmen scattered to find work as far away as possible.

 

“I go to all this trouble and you. Can’t. Even. CALL me!” Jim hissed.

“I was out of the country!” Sherlock shouted into the phone. “I just got back and had to get some sleep‑“

“BOND called me!”

“What?” Sherlock blinked rapidly. 

“Bond was in South America and HE called me RIGHT AWAY!”

“Who’s Bond?!” Sherlock had somehow lost all sense of the conversation.

“I go to all this trouble for you, Sherlock and you never appreciate it. You… You…”

“Jim you are making no sense at all, I never asked you to‑“

“AND he has MUCH better taste in bait, you self-centered, egotistical‑“

Sherlock’s blood ran cold as he thought of what Jim might do. “Please, leave them out of –“

“I AM NOT TALKING TO YOU!”  Jim shouted and hung up.

 

_John! He had to get to John!_ He called his home immediately.

“Hello?” Mary’s voice, with an edge of caution, but not frightened or hurt.

“Mary, its Sherlock. Where is John?”

“Oh! Oh I am so glad you’re back.  John’s been over at St. Bart’s. There’s a very high security patient and‑“

Sherlock hung up and raced to St. Bartholomew’s.  He didn’t trust those idiots to keep John safe, and Moriarty had sounded more unhinged than ever.

There were real Army, with military weapons, standing guard in one wing. Sherlock paused and then went down the stairwell to Molly.

He found Molly putting away files. As always, he didn’t quite know what to say to her.

_Angry‑about something else, someone’s been hurt, not someone close, dangerous men, attraction, she knows I’m expected_

“Hello.” Sherlock sort of fluttered his hand at her.

“Sherlock! Oh everyone will be so glad you’re here!”

“Is everything alright? You seemed upset.”

She smiled up at him. “All of our people are fine, Sherlock. I had to help John treat a little girl who was hurt badly.”

“By Moriarty?”

She blinked at him a lot. N _o, the idea had never crossed her mind_.  “No, um… a trafficking ring… in South America somewhere. She was brought in by the…”

_Someone dangerous and attractive_

 “The fellow who brought Q in.”

“Can you take me up? There are a large number of guards.”

“Yes, yes there are, all for one sort of adorable computer programmer.”

Sherlock remembered bank vaults opening. “Computer programmers can be very” – _dangerous_ ‑ “valuable.”

Molly chattered at him about inconsequential things, as she did. Sherlock tried to remember to be polite about it.

The guards apparently had been told to expect him and let the two of them through.

He walked in.

_John was fine. A bit rattled, a bit tired, but he did so love action, and even a bit of danger_. Sherlock relaxed just slightly.  There was, indeed, a pleasant and harmless looking young man lying asleep in the hospital bed. He looked tired, and had low-grade, constant pain wearing on him, but… something was off about him. The SAS guard‑ _friendly, more open than most, Irish, had become fond of the patient_. There was for some unearthly reason a child asleep in the other bed in the suite. She was clutching some sort of stuffed animal – _walrus_.  There was some sort of guard over on that side of the room behind a curtain; probably another SAS man.

John looked up, delighted, and came over and hugged him. _I wish he wouldn’t._ He patted at John worriedly. “Moriarty has gotten worse, I’m afraid.”

“Worse? What do you mean?” John frowned.

“He left his phone number in the Times, I called him and he went on this unhinged rant about how long I took to call, and how someone else called him first. He said… that…”

Not for the first time, Sherlock remembered just HOW stupid he was compared to his brother.

“He’s the other bait, isn’t he?  The one Moriarty mentioned.  The fellow who called from South America had ‘better taste in bait’,” Sherlock finished flatly, feeling like a complete idiot.

“Yeah, he was using him to get an MI6 agent to do things for him.  As Mycroft said, ‘Sound familiar?’” John said quietly. “He’s had this man for several weeks”

“Unhinged rant?” said a gruffly pleasant voice from the guard near the child’s bed.

“Yes, something about how Bond called him right away and I didn’t, then he mentioned John and hung up, so I came here.”

The man behind him laughed cheerfully‑  _deadly, dangerous, the MI6 agent of course_ ‑ and Sherlock decided that he would  simply have to  spend the next week going over his mind palace for faults, because he was MISSING things.  He turned around. “I’m Sherlock Holmes. You must be Bond.”

“James Bond,”  the man said agreeably.  He was terribly hard to read, but what Sherlock could see? He was a trained killer, and he was analyzing Sherlock behind those terribly bright blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, really, you put your number out for the man and he doesn't call for days... BOND called, BOND took him to a carnival.   
> snort.


	23. Name That Tune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q wakes up  
> and they make a phone call.

Bond nodded slowly at Sherlock, and simply walked past him to the bed with Q.

_What a damnably odd fellow. Not who I’d figure for Jim being interested in at all._ “Q has been babbling his head off as he came out of anesthesia.  Luckily mostly singing, but he managed to tell a highly classified anecdote about me as well, and babbled a bit about computers.”

Bond tried to ignore the fact that anyone who heard the ‘anecdote’ had been flushing rather hard, and was again.  He hadn’t realized seducing that woman had made such a strong impression on Q; it apparently fueled quite a lot of his fantasies.

“He came out of it enough to recognize he was safe, and went to sleep.”

Sherlock walked over to get a better look at the fellow.  His eyes snapped open and tried desperately to focus. Bond was fetching his glasses when the fellow suddenly started singing.

“And I ask you, friend, what's a fella to do,” Q sang, staring up at Sherlock,  “'Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue...” and then trailed off.

“Oh God, he’s singing again,” Bond said sounding half frustrated and half amused.

“Galway Girl,” said the SAS man helpfully.

Sherlock looked down at Q as Bond put his glasses back on him. “Why?”

“Why what?” Q said shakily, staring up at him.

“Why did you start singing that?” Sherlock asked, and then added, “Right then.”

John started with “Sherlock, the man’s barely come out of it‑“

“Why?” Sherlock asked insistently. 

Bond put his hand on Q’s shoulder. Q relaxed slightly. “Q, do you KNOW why you started singing?”

Q put his hand up over Bond’s hand. “Hang on, let me think. It’s… all jumbled.”

After a pause that felt a lot longer to Bond than it really was, Q answered, “Black hair and blue eyes….” His eyes tracked over to Sherlock. “Jim mentioned you. He sang that sometimes when he had been mentioning you.  It was something I picked up to remember what he said you looked like.

“I’m… I’m really out?” Q asked, suddenly staring at Bond.

“Yes, damned if I know why, but you are.”

“Can I get a computer? A phone? Anything?” Q’s voice started sounding a touch more hysterical, although he was reining it in.

Bond handed him his phone.  Q just stared at it like it was beautiful and made petting gestures at it.

“They never let me touch anything computerized. Even when I was allowed to talk on the phone, someone else held it to my ear.”

“That’s because you’re a wizard with those things, Q.” Bond tried to put some gentleness in his tone. “They had some respect for your capabilities, anyway.”

“Jim said I was brilliant,” Q replied without apparently thinking much of it.

“You sound like you–“ Sherlock started to say but Q cut him off.

“Were brainwashed. I was. I know,” Q said tensely. “I told Bond that.”

“He did,” Bond said backing him up easily. He gripped his hand. “I’ve BEEN there Q; the fact that you know it happened will help.”

Sherlock frowned at John, “Moriarty has… we haven’t seen him do anything quite like this, but he is an expert at manipulating people.”

“Yah, I know,” Bond smiled pleasantly. “I met him.  Pleasant, funny, unpredictable, deadly… very good with security systems and knows his way around disarming a bomb.  Kills efficiently, has good taste in employees… Pity we’re not on the same side. I’m going to hate to shoot him.”

Q just stared at him.

John stared at Bond, then at Sherlock, then back at Bond. “I don’t understand.”

Sherlock looked thoughtfully at Bond. “It sounds like you think you know him pretty well. I don’t think you do. He’s a monster.”

Q started to protest immediately, “He saved my… life…” He trailed off looking miserable. “Oh bloody hell.”

Bond nodded. “He did save your life, Q. That’s going to make it a bit tougher.” Then he looked amused at Sherlock. “You said he went off on you when you called?”

“Yes.”

Bond took a second phone out of his pocket‑kiosk standard disposable phone, Sherlock noted, probably from London‑ and dialed.  The rapid busy tones were eerily loud in the room.

“Try this one,” Q said, rattling off a number.

Bond dialed it without asking why.

When a familiar voice at the other end of the line answered with a bland business name, Bond laughed.

“James!”  The business voice became throaty and warm almost instantly. “So Q remembered this one?”

“Yes, yes he did.”

The entire room had gone quiet; Bond  turned the volume up, then sat down and kept his hand on Q’s shoulder reassuringly, leaning down so Q could catch all of it.

“Wonderful!  How much babbling did he do? I’m afraid he had to be put under a bit more than usual.”

“I learned a bunch of new songs for the next time I’m in an Irish pub.”

Jim laughed. Q shivered and brought his hand‑still holding the smartphone‑ up to his mouth.

“Thank you for returning him.”

“Of course. You’ll need him: Silva is a computer expert.”

Bond suddenly understood a lot more about why this was happening. “Of course, we’ll need Q’s help to let you collect your chits from the three of us.”

“Exactly right,” Jim said smugly.

“Clever, but you are.” Bond shrugged. “Can I ask you a question, Jim?”

“You can ask…”

“Why Sherlock? He’s not your type.”

“Why, James,” Jim’s voice dropped into a bedroom purr.  Q started shivering uncontrollably, eyes squinched shut. John came over and started checking his IV lines. “Whatever makes you so sure you know my type?”

Bond just laughed. “Don’t play the fool with me; he’s not.”

“I can enjoy playing other games too, you know.  And that’s all I will say about it.  What do you think of him?”

Bond’s eyes flicked over at Sherlock. “Smart, probably smarter than me; all the sense God gave a lemming, though.”

Jim laughed at that. Sherlock looked affronted. Molly stuffed her hand in her mouth. John just said, “He got that right.”

Jim was still laughing.  Eventually he wheezed, “Do say hi to Johnny for me.”

“Sure. He’s more your type though,” Bond said flicking his eyes over the doctor.

“Jealous?”

“No.”

He could hear Jim pout. “Why not?”

Bond looked thoughtful, glanced at Q, and had his eyes track around the room slowly. “You play chess, don’t you Jim?”

“Of course. Why?” Jim sounded sincerely curious.

“Because this… isn’t the end game, not even close. There are still too many pieces on the board.”

Sherlock’s eyes went very, very wide.

“I knew I liked you best, James,” Jim giggled into his ear, and hung up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galway Girl has been performed by many groups, here's one where you can hear the lyrics pretty well.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4TzLo2QdCU


	24. Five Card Draw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Mycroft Holmes, and Q has concerns

“You going to be alright Q?” Bond asked after he put down the phone.

“No. Yes... God, I hope so.”

Bond squeezed his shoulder. “You can’t do anything but hold out, and you did. You even managed to get me information‑ that’s pretty good.”

Q was still shaking, but he looked gratefully up at Bond. “Thank you.”

John was looking worriedly at Sherlock.  He had that frozen look that meant he’d seen something he was still figuring out. His hands were moving in that fidgety fashion while the rest of him was frightenly still.

“Sherlock?” John said hesitantly, “Can you tell me what it is.”

“What chit?” he snapped his eyes to Bond. “You need him to do something, and Moriarty has favors called on it already? Who?”

“Me, M, Mycroft,” Bond said flatly.

“What?!” Q looked shocked. “You being a suicidal loon I finally got used to‑ since when is M… and who’s Mycroft?”

“He can’t have agreed to it.” Sherlock sounded incredulous.

“I have, actually,” Mycroft said as he walked into the suite.

“Green eyes, red hair,” muttered Q.

Sherlock whirled furiously on his brother. “You’re supposed to be the SMART one.” Then he blinked a lot, “Mycroft, what are you doing here? It can’t be secure enough.”

“It’s secure because no one would expect me to be here,” Mycroft said drily.

“You must be Bond; this must be Q; I assume the young lady staring at us from the bed is Jamie?”

Indeed, Jamie had woken up and was looking worriedly at everyone.  Bond held out his hand and she came over and tucked herself under his arm.

“Who?” said Q, utterly confused. _Jim had never mentioned this_.

“I rescued her on my last assignment.” He shrugged. “She’s spooked, only speaks a bit of English‑although she understands it better than she speaks it, I think. I brought her home to mother.”

Q blinked a lot. “She’s young to… she’s got nowhere else then?”

Bond shook his head.

Mycroft coughed, “Doctor Watson, I was trying to keep you, and my brother, out of this. I hope you understand.”

“I appreciate it, even if it didn’t work,” sighed John.

“I was told to scold you for it. In those words,” Bond said with a shrug at Mycroft.  He frowned. “He also said to tell Doctor Watson some things, but I have the impression they mean more than I know about.”

Q sighed. “I would assume so, he often acted like there was some kind of ‘in joke’ about certain words and phrases. I tried to remember them.  It’s why I have some songs associated with people.” He nodded at Sherlock.

“What’s this?” Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

“Jim sang,” Q said. “Sometimes it seemed like songs lined up with people he’d talked about; not always.” He chewed his lower lip worriedly. “Look, never mind that. I know he got every computer code I knew out of me, so if it hasn’t been done, the entire system needs to be reset‑ AFTER you check for Trojans.”

“For what?” Not for the first time, John felt very slow.

“He’ll have had access to MI6 since not long after the surgery, if I’m right.  Which means there will be access codes already installed. ‘Trojan Horse programs’.  If you change the passwords now it won’t help until you find them,” Q explained.

“We took the entire secure system off the grid once Bond reported on how bad the security breach was,” Mycroft said in what was, for him, a reassuring tone.

“How?”

“What do you mean?”

“How? How did you take it off grid?  If you didn’t do a good job of it, the normal information sweeps will still be going on. You can get in that way.”

Bond stated matter of factly, “Q knows the computers for our department inside and out, Sir. I just didn’t think anyone could have all the passwords in his head, even Q.”

“I didn’t need them all in my head.  They change constantly: I set it up for security that way.”

“But Jim still had them?”

“I’m afraid he asked me what the algorithm was… and I am horribly afraid I told him.” Q winced. “Apparently, I am extremely talkative under anesthesia.”

Mycroft started talking to his assistant.  Sherlock was standing there fluttering his hands and making unhappy muttering noises when Q rather suddenly started talking again.

“James‑“  He tensed. “Bond. Please get everyone out of here except you, Sherlock, the Doctor and… Are you certain Mycroft is cleared?”

Mycroft startled badly and said, “What?!”

John started coughing into his hand, while Sherlock said drily, “If he isn’t, I have no idea who is.”

“He’s over my paygrade, anyway,” shrugged Bond.  “Ok, can everyone go out? Molly, can you and that nice lady Policewoman take Jamie next door?” He turned and spoke quickly to Jamie; Q assumed it was the same instructions.

Q looked around as everyone was leaving, looking warily at Mycroft in specific.

Once they were out, he looked up at Bond pleadingly. “Check. Make sure no one got a bug in, and for the love of God has anyone checked ME?”

Mycroft slowly locked eyes on Q. “You think you, yourself, might have an implanted bug?”

“Yes. I don’t know, but it’s certainly possible.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “Definitely not impossible; not even all that improbable.”

Bond swore quietly, and then nodded. “Quite possible, Q, and I didn’t think of it. You always were quick.  I just wish you’d gotten more field agent training.”

“Yes, well, I was rather wishing so too while people were trying to kill me.”

Everything was rather quiet after that as the rooms were searched and it was arranged for Q to get put through intensive scanning.

“James‑“  Q broke off with something halfway between a sob and a laugh. “God DAMN it. BOND.  It’s BOND.”

“You can call me James if you like.” Bond said softly.

“HE calls you James, all the time.”

Sherlock and Mycroft kept looking at each other. Sherlock cleared his throat, “Not any nicknames?”

“Only, ‘My Darling James’ or ‘My Favorite Blue-eyed Killer’,” Q said tiredly.  “You lot got all the nicknames.”

“Can we let the SAS guard back in after we clear you?” Bond asked gently.

“NO!” Q shouted frantically, then said more calmly, “No. Look, he may be exactly what he appears‑ a random Irish SAS fellow who knows EVERY damn song I’ve apparently been babbling so far‑ but the fact is, he could just as easily work for Jim.  I’m sorry, but until I know better, unless Ja‑Bond clears you, I don’t trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> red hair, green eyes is a song.


	25. True Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are a very valuable resource,” Mycroft said practically. “He must have been delighted when he realized what he had.”
> 
> Q smiled wryly, “He said that when he realized what I was, he didn’t know whether to endow a Cathedral, or pay everyone to put out bowls of milk for the faeries.”

Mycroft replaced the inner ring of guards with his own handpicked people. Jamie was taken off to an MI6 safehouse, with promises from Bond that he would visit her soon. Then the lengthy process of scanning Q, inside and out, began.  People came and went, or spent time on their phones. Q refused to let go of the phone unless he was actually in an MRI, otherwise it was in his hand constantly. It took hours before they were finally back in the –now swept by Mycroft’s own team‑ medical suite, and all the guards once again outside.

“You said it wasn’t the end game,” Sherlock said to Bond.

“It’s not. Too many pieces in play, too many moves.  Q here was given back to us to get Silva, because that’s a sacrifice play.  He sacrificed his possession of Q to get a better result, the question is why?  What’s worth it? Q is far too valuable to give up easily.”

“Mycroft is a bigger piece,” Sherlock said thoughtfully.

“A debt based on how much I think I owe him at the end of this.  I’ve dealt with the man; I can handle it.” Mycroft said firmly.

Bond snorted.

Mycroft looked thoughtfully at Q, “You said you knew you were brainwashed?”

Bond blandly stated, “As I said, he told me what was happening.”

Q gritted his teeth and ground out, “All of you just SHUT. UP.”

He took a deep breath and regained his composure. “I’ve been heavily and professionally conditioned.  I suspect, however that he doesn’t realize how much I’m aware of.  As far as I can tell he was using music primarily, but he also used a lot of… basic rewards.   He was the only one who spoke to me, or touched me, outside of medical needs.  Other than his attention, I had next to no stimulation, just… medical.  Very efficiently good medical, but…

“I was half out of my mind with boredom.”

Q saw the two Holmes brothers flinch. Bond nodded slowly. John just nodded encouragingly.

“I know I was kept under a lot. I don’t remember all of it, but I’m fairly sure the songs were intended as conditioning, too, not just… reward? Not just something not boring.  They mean things; I’m just not sure what.”

He sighed. “Mostly he pushed the…”  He took a deep breath and said  the rest as fast as he could: “The existing attraction I had for Bond as a reward.”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock looked puzzled. “He was using Bond’s fondness for you as a reward for him doing things. He did the same thing to me threatening John’s life.”

“I don’t know about that.  I suppose he did that too. I know what he did with ME,” Q said bitterly. “I… have had a rather ridiculous crush on Bond for… well, I’m not sure anymore, but a while. The last time I saw him, before I was shot, after he’d dealt with Jim, I… got jealous.  The way he talked about Jim flirting with him.”

“I have been underinformed,” Mycroft said pleasantly, and Q and Bond both snapped their heads up at that because there was ice under that simple sentence.

“Sir?” Bond asked warily. _Now that sounded like trouble._

“Go on for now, Q. I will need more of a briefing on this prior meeting, later.”

Q went back to what he had been saying. “Apparently, my jealousy was the first time Bond had noticed my interest.  I had been trying to maintain a… working, professional relationship.  It was… it was a long time before I admitted to myself about the attraction,” he confessed sheepishly.

“In any event, Bond kissed me before he left.  I have no idea if it meant anything“‑ Bond tried to say something but Q just talked over him‑ “but it certainly was fantasy fuel for me.”

Q was getting increasingly tense. John looked at him and said, “Q, can I up some medication for you? Your muscle tension is‑“

“Go ahead, I’ll lose most of my inhibitions and talk more.” Q sighed, “That’s been conditioned in, too.”

John adjusted some medication and Q grumbled a bit until some of the pain left his eyes.

“Oh, that’s better,” he said, sinking into the bed.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were in pain?” John frowned at him.

Q smiled lazily at him, “How do you think this works, doctor? They didn’t hurt me, Jim saved my life.  But the pain medication came from him.  It’s hard to think… no, it’s hard to resist.  I fought the drugs…” His voice got a bit more distant. “At least the hypnotics.  For a while.” He rolled his head over to Bond and smiled at him. “Pain has an interesting way of clearing your mind and fuzzing it up too.”

“Yes, yes it does,” Bond nodded. “Anything else you can tell me?”

“Jim promised you to me, Bond.”

“What?” Bond looked puzzled.

“Don’t you mean promised you to him?” John asked, and then noted worriedly that the Holmes brothers were sitting in perfect silence watching Q.

“Oh, I know he did that too.” Q giggled faintly. “But I mean he promised Bond to me. He would go over the times I had listened in on Bond seducing someone, he asked me about it, in detail.  He’d ask me what I thought it would be like if he took me to bed.  God, I’m grateful for the drugs right now, I don’t think I could admit this otherwise. I’m going to be awfully embarrassed later.”

“It’s ok, Q,” Bond said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. “You… er… kind of went over a few of the incidents when you were waking up.”

“Oh, is that why everyone blushed so much?”

“Yes.  You told the story of the hotel maid in Peru.”

“Oooooh… Oh yes, that was one of my favorites.” Q smiled and his hands moved in the direction of his crotch.

Bond frowned and carefully put his hands back.

“I didn’t give him that much.” John frowned at the IV.

“Conditioning, Doctor,” Q said softly. “Reward for going under. It doesn’t take much now. He taught me a whole lot of meditation techniques for pain management, but they… all… take you under. Jim is very efficient.”

The Holmes brothers sat like statues. Mycroft with his eyes fixed like lasers and his hands still, Sherlock twisting his hands without noticing.

“I was allowed to touch myself, encouraged even, but only… I think he was using orgasms as a conditioning response, too; that would be efficient, don’t you think?”

Bond said drily, “It tends to be.”

“I started out with a crush on you.  I was concerned about you too, because you’re one of my double-Os, but you in specific.” He smiled up at Bond. “You’re smarter than any of them. Jim agreed.”

“So what did Jim do?” Bond asked softly.

“He used you as a conditioning reward. I don’t know why, but he did. He kept asking me about my fantasies, promising you would come get me, and saying he’d share me with you.”

“That’s insane,” John said confusedly.

“Well, yes. It IS Moriarty,” said Sherlock quietly. Mycroft looked like ice.

“It’s perfectly sane,” Bond said as he raised an eyebrow. “It puts Jim as an ally, and uses an established crush as a reinforcement and reward.  You’re right, Q: he’s very efficient.  That’s going to be adding to the difficulty, same as the fact that he did rescue you.  Bloody hell.”

“I wouldn’t have let him have the codes, you know. Even now, I want him out of our branch.  He shouldn’t be there.”

“Do you?” asked Mycroft quietly.

“I want to see him, I think I may be in love with him a bit,” said Q without any hesitation. “I don’t think I could hurt him, and if he showed up and asked me to go with him I am very much afraid I might.  I certainly would if James was captured.” He shook his head slowly. “But I wouldn’t give anyone the keys to the computers willingly.  He isn’t supposed to be there.  I wouldn’t give my own mother access to the security.”

Q shook his head again; he looked like he was trying to fight his way clear. “Frankly, I’m shocked he let me go at all. Whatever he stands to gain must be impressive.”

“You are a very valuable resource,” Mycroft said practically. “He must have been delighted when he realized what he had.”

Q smiled wryly, “He said that when he realized what I was, he didn’t know whether to endow a Cathedral, or pay everyone to put out bowls of milk for the faeries.”

“I would imagine,” Mycroft said very drily.

Sherlock nodded, “That’s what he meant when he said Bond had much better taste in bait.  Q is worth a great deal to him as is, aside from any connection to Bond.  WHY did he let him go?”

Bond stated matter of factly,“Because the man out to get M, my boss, head of our department, is a terrorist who uses computers. Jim called him Silva. I haven’t gotten briefed, but M knew the name and it was bad. He has information on a large number of undercover operatives, and he’s been releasing that information. Several agents are dead already. Jim offered to help, in exchange for debts from the three of us, as I said. ‘Help’ apparently included handing us back our computer genius.”

“Do you know what he’s after?” John asked Bond. “You seem to think you understand him.”

“Up to a point, I think.” Bond shrugged. “The problem is, I lack background: what was it you said, Mycroft? ‘I have been underinformed’?  Well in this case, you lot seem to have a history with the man that goes back far before my first encounter with him.”

Q looked up firmly, having apparently pulled himself up from the immediate effects of the pain medication. “If this Silva is endangering people, every minute you spend worrying about anything else is costing lives. We’ve established that I’m not bugged or traced. Either give me a computer and let me HELP, or stop telling me there’s a problem and not letting me do anything.”

“Can we trust you, Q?” Mycroft asked softly.  John flinched, expecting Q, or Bond, to be outraged.

Instead, Q just smiled at him in a pleasant fashion. “No, you can’t, because I don’t trust me.  But that’s got nothing to do with work.  I have no fondness for people who are endangering our assets, or M, or Bond, or England. I’m capable of sitting up, I can even walk just a little, but I don’t even need to do THAT to run this problem into the ground.  Bond is the best at what he does; I’m the best at what I do.”

“Then the game is, as my brother might say, afoot.” Mycroft nodded. “I shall be back in my office.”

At that moment sirens started screaming all over London, and even in the hospital they could hear the telltale sounds of explosions.

“What?!”

It took only a few minutes for Mycroft to find out that MI6 had been bombed, along with several other government buildings‑ including his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom.  
> sadly this will take people's minds of some critical data they got, i suppose. oh well.


	26. Hello Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft stopped suddenly then, becoming almost unnaturally still. “Not Moriarty, the blasts just hit two of his chits. Someone else.”

Mycroft tried to leave and Bond grabbed him by the collar.

“Not a fucking chance,” Bond snarled.

“I’ll have your head for that,” Mycroft said, sounding like iced knives, while Sherlock stared at Bond as though he’d just witnessed the impossible.

“You can have my bloody head after we deal with this, SIR.” Bond’s blue eyes pinned Mycroft in place with their intensity. “You are alive because you were unexpectedly HERE. If you have half the rank and capability I think you do, then it’s my job to protect you at all costs, including from yourself. Clear?”

Mycroft stopped suddenly then, becoming almost unnaturally still. “Not Moriarty, the blasts just hit two of his chits. Someone else.”

Sherlock nodded, hands twitching violently at his sides, “Silva. It is the most logical conclusion.”

“As of NOW this suite just became the recovery office,” Bond ordered, as he produced several guns as if by magic. “Get that SAS man back in here: even if he is working for Jim, he’s not working for Silva.”  He nodded at John. “I hope you still have your gun?”

John was already unholstering it. “Of course, someone has to protect Sherlock.  As you said, ‘all the sense of a lemming’.” Sherlock spluttered.

“Sorry Q, but Mycroft takes priority‑“

“Get me a bloody laptop, you idiot! Someone is hacking into our servers and all I have is this damn phone.” Q had his head down, fingers flying over the smartphone.

“What?” Mycroft   snapped his head to Q. “How do you know?”

“I built those systems. You didn’t take them off line nearly well enough, but my defense system is keeping them out fairly well.” He glanced up at Bond. “NOT Jim: he doesn’t need to try to break in, he has the keys. This is whoever was trying before.”

“Molly has one,” Sherlock said calmly. “A laptop.”

Mycroft just nodded. Sherlock and John bolted out of the room.

James looked at Mycroft and then shoved him firmly into the most secure corner of the suite and took up watch.  Mycroft’s men‑and one Irish SAS guard‑ turned the suite into a military post.

It all became a whirlwind, then:  doctors preparing for trauma patients, Mycroft organizing guards and security containments. After they practically tossed Q a laptop, John and Sherlock got the  hospital locked down, and started coordinating with  Lestrade,‑only mildly injured because he was out of the building getting coffee at the time‑in hunting down the bombers

At about the same time that the first wave of trauma patients hit the Emergency room, they finally made contact with M. She’d been injured, but would be alright, and was moving MI6 to emergency quarters.

“I’ve blocked the hacker for now, but they’ve had time to DIG at the defenses,” Q spoke loudly enough for M to hear him.

“Is Q fit for duty, Bond?” she asked sharply.

“No, but that never stopped any of us,” Bond said matter of factly into the phone.

“Then put him to work. We lost too many people to spare him.” M hung up the line.

Minute by minute, some of the best minds in London began making sense of all the various pieces.

Bond kept his considerable bulk between Mycroft and the rest of the world.  Bond’s eyes moved ceaselessly, even though he scarcely moved at all. 

When the second wave of trauma patients arrived, John was called in to assist.  He looked pointedly at Bond and jerked his head at Sherlock. “Try to keep him alive, will you?”

Bond just nodded, and moved an annoyed Sherlock to the bed Jamie had been using to continue his work.

Two minutes after that, a guard came in and addressed Mycroft, “Sir? There’s an injured patient from MI6 who says he has a package.”

Bond shifted and looked intently at the door. His hopes that it wasn’t actually an injured patient, but was instead someone he could shoot, were dashed when some ginger fellow came in, under escort, covered in blood and debris. One arm was held stiffly across their body, and they had gauze bandages over half their face.

“You need medical,” Mycroft said flatly.

“Yes, Sir, I do. But my supervisors’ last orders were to get this”‑he indicated a courier bag‑“to this suite, and deliver it to Commander Bond.”

Bond looked him over. The man was standing on anger and adrenaline alone as far as he could tell. “What is it?”

“Not my business,” the man snapped; he had a trace of West Country in his accent. Bond realized a good bit of his unruly mop of hair was actually caked with blood.

“Who’s your supervisor?”

“It WAS Caruthers.  I’m not at all sure he made it.”

Bond realized the man was probably about to fall over. “Here.”

“Identification,” the fellow said reflexively.

Bond laughed and gave him a string of numbers.

The fellow backed up and looked at him suspiciously. “That’s not right.”

Bond nodded. “Good.”  He then gave him a different set. _That one was wrong too, but fakes often fell for that._

The fellow started trying to back out of the room, looking alarmed, and as his one unbandaged eye swept the room it suddenly fell on Q. “Q?” He stopped.  “Quartermaster?”

Q glanced up from his laptop with a professional “Yes, what is‑“ His jaw dropped as he took in the bloodied, bandaged mess standing in the door clutching a bag. “I know you… “ Q said slowly.

“Martin, from tech help. I work for Caruthers… You’re alive? I’d heard you were killed!”

“No time, Martin. Get yourself to medical.” Q went back to working feverishly on Molly’s laptop.

The man glanced at Bond, then back at Q. “He’s got all the wrong codes.”

“Bond, stop playing with him.” Q never even looked back up.

Bond shrugged, “Security, you know,” and gave him the right coded identification phrase.

“Bollocks the lot of you field people.” He tried to snarl and wavered on his feet. “Here. I think it’s Q’s, actually.” He shoved the bag at Bond and staggered out of the room. “Going to pass out in the ER; they have worse in front of me.”

Bond checked the case quickly.

“Dunno if it’s bugged but…” He handed Q a laptop, considerably bigger, heavier, and more lethal looking than Molly’s.

“Ohhh…” breathed Q. “Hello, beautiful. I missed you.” He grabbed things out of the bag and opened up the new laptop.

“Give me just a sec.” Q was grinning ferally as equipment took over the rolling desk at his bed.  Bond recognized some of it‑ repeaters, signal boosters, a separate encryption fob‑ but not all of it.

For a few minutes there was just steady typing and clicking from Q, papers rustling and occasional voices from Sherlock’s corner, and the endless texting and phone calls from Mycroft.  Bond continued his steady surveillance of the room, deadly and silent as any predator.

Mycroft looked up from reorganizing the defense of the country to stare baffled for a beat at the array on the desk and then swore reverently. “How did THAT get here?”

“Martin,” Q said distractedly, then went back to ignoring him while he worked.

Bond explained, “That fellow is apparently Martin, a known tech  under Caruthers.  I think Caruthers worked for Tanner.”

Q suddenly laughed, “And everyone involved deserves a medal. I’ve got him.”

“What do you mean?” Mycroft stared at him.

“Just that. I’ve tracked the signal.  I know where the digital attack is coming from.  They tried to hide it, of course.” His fingers stroked his laptop possessively.

“Just give me the location,” said Bond. “They won’t bother anyone again.”

“Alive, OO7.” Mycroft snapped.

“There may be other agents closer,” Q said as he rattled off a location. “Let me check.”

Sherlock looked up at him, “Can you get into the traffic cameras from here?”

“I can get into ANYTHING from here,” Q said with a faint smile.

“From what I have deduced, we have two teams that set the bombs.”  He started showing Q the map of probable movements; Q began working on tracing them.

Bond called in a few more of Mycroft’s guards, then picked up his gear bag.

“Alive, OO7. I mean it,” Mycroft said, but by the time he finished he was talking to a door.

“I don’t know how M doesn’t strangle him,” Mycroft muttered.

“No one does,” Q said distractedly. “But it seems to work.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the events which would/should have been Skyfall obviously went differently, but yes "boom".  
> I want you all to try to picture the complete shock and fury on Mycroft when someone grabbed him and told him what to do... snicker. the problem is, Bond was/is right


	27. Back to MI6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back to where it started, well not that building the new one.

By the next day, with Q’s help, Sherlock had located the people who planted the bombs, and one of the groups was in custody.  The other group decided to try an armed standoff, which hadn’t ended well. Mycroft was leaving to oversee the interrogation personally.

“Q, we need to move you to the temporary MI6. Doctor Watson will go with you.” Mycroft nodded at the unconscious John, passed out after nearly a full day working in trauma and triage.

Sherlock frowned, “Should we move them? This location is more secure.”

“No, we shouldn’t, yes it is. But the hospitals are overwhelmed and need every bed.” Mycroft admitted grudgingly.

Q frowned, “This location is hardly more secure.”

“Moriarty doesn’t have a backdoor into the entire structure here.”

Q blinked at him in confusion. “Is Jim the problem right now?”

“Moriarty is always a problem.” Mycroft said flatly. “I should have had him shot when I had the chance.”

Q shivered.

They were moved to the temporary headquarters of MI6. Q was overjoyed to find that most of his minions from Q branch had escaped the worst of the blast. It made sense, Q branch was fairly well bomb proof given what they worked with. They in turn were overjoyed to see him, although the physical restrictions made things a bit awkward.  He’d at least been able to get dressed, finally.  He hadn’t realized just how much he missed real clothing.

Q branch and the surviving IT people were bringing the surviving computers in and hooking them up to the backup systems, or in some cases stacking damaged equipment up in the hallways until they could be stripped for parts. Q started working on the software immediately.

M actually came by Q branch to see him.

She was in a wheelchair‑ clearly mentioning that was idiocy. “How quickly can you get our computers back online Quartermaster?”

“Well Ma’am, I can get us back online against  people who don’t already have our keys within  a few hours, but to  safeguard our systems against anyone who has had weeks to already‑“

“How quickly can you secure the systems against THAT threat?”

“It will take considerably more resources than we can spare.” He admitted bitterly.

 “Can... Can you just block transmissions out?” A querulous voice came from one of the people connecting the imported computers; it was Oscar.

Q smiled, Oscar had given him a horribly hard time when he’d arrived in MI6, but once he’d proven he could run rings around  them on the computers, unlike the prior Quartermaster, he’d become a solid help. “Oscar it’s not quite that simple.” _But it might help._

“Martin thought it would work.” Oscar said firmly, dragging another fellow forward, “He’s just too new to come out and tell you.”

_Martin.  Martin from tech help, who worked for Caruthers_ ‑ Q came up with the name after a moment’s recollection.  _The wonderful IT fellow who’d brought him the laptop._   He was still wearing bandages over half of his face, of course. Q wondered if his eye was going to‑ _don’t think about it. There were too many other things to be concerned about_.

M stared glacially at Martin, who sort of shrank‑ understandably. “Explain.”

“If… If you put in a restriction on getting data OUT, so that it needs direct authority from the sysadmin, it would at least slow someone down. We had to do that in college when someone hacked the engineering computers.” Martin winced. “It... bought us enough time to bring up an uncontaminated system back up.”

Q brightened up. “It’s not quite that simple, with our systems, Ma’am, but I could put in a two person authorization on secure data going out.  It would make it VERY hard to download…”‑he sighed‑ “anything he hasn’t already.”

“Do it. I want detailed plans on securing our systems, AND making it easier to secure in the future, on my desk .”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“You”‑she looked over at Martin‑“who are you?”

“Martin Bradford, Ma’am.  Martin from Tech help? I work for Caruthers.” He paused and his mouth twisted, “I worked for him.”

_Caruthers didn’t make it then.  Oh._

“You should be on leave.”

 “I’m having a bit of trouble seeing, but I still have both hands, my left arm is just sprained‑can’t lift much‑ but I can still manage.” He looked at several of the other IT people, Jenny and Oscar and Darren, and lifted his chin just a bit. “Besides, what else can we do, sit home and watch the telly and fret?”

M nodded. “Then continue to be useful.  The Quartermaster will likely need people to be hands for him.”  She spun the wheelchair with all the ease of turning on her heel, and her aide wheeled her out.

Oscar looked over at him, “Can we help, Q? I know we’re not usually your branch, but…”

 “Yeah, actually. I can get out of bed, and sit, but crawling under computers to check cables is out of the question right now.”

Darren‑who Q had had a horrible crush on, right up until he met Bond, probably, not that he would ever act on it, he was technically his direct boss‑ grinned at him with that lopsided grin that still caused Q to feel a bit wistful, and said cheerfully, “Well first of all, the traditional foodstuffs of  geeks everywhere must be procured!  We can’t pull another all-nighter without  pizza, chips, and beer.”

Q felt tears start up in his eyes, and blinked them back, “Well I’m off beer for the duration, but someone needs to get the assorted caffeine sources running, right?”

“Right!” Martin nodded, “C’mon Jen, leave the hale and hearty to do the backbreaking work, let’s get the food in.” Jenny had a leg in a cast, Q realized.

“You got caught in the blast?” Q asked her, _silly really, of course she had_.

“Nope. Got clipped by a taxi on vacation in Italy two weeks ago.” She smiled, “while…” the smile faltered a bit, “While you were away. Back soon!”

Then Robbins, one of the better explosives men in Q branch, came over to ask him some questions about security, and he got back to work.

John‑Doctor Watson‑ ordered him to take a break eventually. “You need to take it easy, regular breaks or you will push yourself until you fall over, and then it will take a LOT longer to get up.”

“I’m used to doing just that, actually.  Work straight through for three days and then fall over.” Q admitted.

“Yes, well, not while I’m here.” John smiled at him. “I wish Mary could be here, she’d kick both our arses over it.”

“Mary? Oh, oh yes, you’re married, sorry I forgot.” Q frowned. “Is she… safe? Here isn’t very safe.”

“She’s at home. Mycroft promised he’d keep his own men on guard, and she’s armed.” John winced, “But very pregnant, so I worry.”

“Oh.” Q had no idea how to respond to that.

“Right, well anyway, all we have to worry about is this Silva fellow, who blows up buildings and hacks computers, not like it’s Moriarty.” John said pleasantly.

“You… you say that like Jim is worse.” Q had that usual sort of nauseous disorientation when anyone talked too badly about Jim.  He hated it. “He’s a problem; I know that, but…”

“No. No you don’t.” John sighed.  “He’s committed so many murders, lots of them just to send Sherlock off on a puzzle.  He kidnapped KIDS… I just hope he never intended them to die.”

“No.” Q’s mouth went dry. “Jim isn’t like that…”

John looked sympathetic at him. “You said he conditioned you. Part of that is not letting you see anything bad about him.”

“I… I guess. I know he’s done criminal things, it was fairly public.”

“He killed a kid, when Sherlock was only a child.  Kept his shoes around and sent them to Sherlock decades later. Because the kid laughed at him, he said.”

Q’s head started spinning.

“He strapped me into a bomb vest. That’s how I met him. He was using me to get to Sherlock, just like using you to get to Bond.”

Q slipped to the floor with his head spinning and his gut on fire.

“SHIT!”

_Jim wasn’t like that. Jim was …_

“Oh God how long has he been without his pain meds?”

People moved him to the bed again, he felt an IV being hooked back to his port.

_No, no I don’t want to go under again._

“Has he had anything to eat? Drink?”

 “Yes, ‑ “ he heard Jenny  talking about chips.

“He was doing fine until you talked to him.” Oscar’s voice.

“If you’ve done the Doctoring stuff, we can handle it from here. I think you’d best leave. Maye you can help some of the other people who need medical.” Danielle, his second in Q branch, being all protective.

“Yes, yes of course. I’m a bloody fool.” John said as his footsteps faded away.

“We’ll take turns watching him until he wakes up.” Danielle said firmly.

After that he drifted for a long time, or a short time, or time anyway, until Jim sat down by his bedside and petted his hair, and told him not to worry.

_Jim was right._

Jim was always right.

Q went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> even if Q had known about some of the nastier stuff Jim did, he has trouble thinking about it... and truth is, mostly he had the vague concept of "murdered" (so what, he oversees Double Os) and had concentrated on the stuff like he does, hacking and etc.


	28. Intense Scrutiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond returns, with Silva...uh oh.

Q woke up woozily. Someone was sitting next to his bed in the dark room .

“Jim? James?”   _It isn’t James‑ it’s Bond._ “Bond?”

“Martin, Quartermaster. Glad you’re finally awake! We’ve been taking turns.”

“Martin?” Q tried to drag his mind back; it was a haze of syrup and music.  He shook his head to clear it. “Martin, from the IT department _.”  He’d worked for Caruthers, what was he doing in Q branch?… oh… right._ Q sat up and swallowed a few times. “I’m sorry; I was a bit out of it.”

“Can… can I get you anything?”

“Tea.” Q said firmly.

“Already on it!” Darren said, coming in with a tray of tea and some kind of sandwiches.

“Great!” Martin looked relieved, “I’m trying to get in to see an eye specialist today.” He stopped and looked at Q, “If you can manage?”

“Please.” Q nodded at the door. “We’ll be fine.”

They went back to work. Q noticed that Darren turned that quirked smile in his direction a bit more frequently; he caught himself flushing a bit. _He wasn’t Bond, but he was attractive, even if it could never go anywhere_. Not for the first time Q found himself wondering if it was even possible for him to have a boyfriend‑ a real one, one he didn’t have to lie to.  John had apparently found someone, and even if he didn’t work for MI6, his life was hardly ordinary.

Sometime after he’d talked OO3 through a technical question in the field _‑ and didn’t it feel good to be doing something that ordinary again?_ ‑ he asked Danielle a question. “How do any of us end up in a relationship?”

“What?” she said, from under a desk where she was dealing with some recalcitrant wiring.

“I know some MI6 folks have managed.  I just don’t see how you MEET anyone.”

“Well, I know Tanner’s wife works in military weapons development. Dunno how they met.”  She dusted her hands off as she got up. “Why?”

“Oh, just contemplating my rather appalling track record.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Most of us assumed you were gay.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want a relationship, it just changes the gender pronouns,” He said amusedly.

Oscar chose that moment to poke his head around a door. “That Doctor bastard is back.”

“Ugh.” Danielle made a face. “Want us to ditch him?”

“No.  Truthfully I need to get more medication.” He made a face.  “Otherwise I won’t be good for anything.”

He judged she was making threats at John as she let him in, based on his guilty expression.

“Q.” John said quietly. “How are you doing?”

“Awful, really. I feel like I want to throw up.”

“You… don’t look that bad.”

Q shrugged and the pain lines started showing on his face. “The Double-Os routinely take shots that would kill people and go ‘bad bug bite, moving on’; maybe it rubbed off.”

He let John move him into the private room and start taking vitals and prodding him. “Well, your blood pressure is up, and you are well overdue for your pain medication and due for your antibiotics.  So let’s get you lying down –“

“I hate this,” Q said staring at the IV.

“I’m sorry,” John said very sincerely.

The syrupy haze sucked him down, but he felt unsettled and ill at ease. There was nothing to hold on to, just a soft syrupy nothing.  He was inordinately grateful when he felt Jim brush his hair back, and heard music….

 

The next day Bond finally called in.

“Bond! I am almost grateful enough to hear from you to forgive you for not calling in earlier,” said Q relievedly. “Report.”

“Target tagged and bagged.” Bond sounded grumpy. “I’ll have him in the zoo by tea time.”

“I shall inform the Zookeeper,” Q said smiling, thinking that it suited M better than ‘Mother’.

“How are you?” Bond asked.

“Managing,” Q sighed faintly. “See you when you get back.”

 

Sherlock had apparently arrived at the temporary MI6 as well, having been sent by Mycroft in some complicated fashion‑officially to connect the bombings with Silva, and help to gather intelligence.  John suspected it was to get him out of the way and in a more secure location, really, but in any event he was here.

Bond had thrown Silva into containment and was now slowly pacing M’s office like some sort of caged beast looking for an outlet.

“We still have spies,” Bond growled out finally.

M, whose wheelchair was less than obvious behind her desk, hardly quirked an eyebrow, “I highly doubt we’ve found them all, Bond.”

“Why are they here?” Bond’s eyes snapped over to John and Sherlock.

John was really stunned by the difference between THIS Bond, all coiled power and vibrating danger on silent feet, and the still deadly, but considerably less violent looking Bond he’d first dealt with.

Sherlock started to say something about Silva when M cut them off. “Q collapsed a day ago.”

Bond stilled. “What happened?” His voice had gone pleasantly calm.

John was momentarily confused by the change‑ it seemed almost like the danger was past‑ when Sherlock moved abruptly and pushed him into a corner, keeping himself between John and Bond.

Bond’s eyes moved lazily to the movement, and John felt the intense blue gaze settle on him. It was exactly like the sensation of being shot: John felt the exact same sudden shock, followed by both physical numbness and intensity of awareness. Adrenaline pushed his mind to hyper alertness before his body could respond.

M simply said, “Double-O Seven, stand down,” in a voice of quiet command.

Bond’s eyes lost a fraction of their intensity, and John staggered as though he’d lost support. Sherlock’s arm was likely the only thing holding him up.

John reflexively closed his hand on Sherlock’s arm, before answering, “I talked about Moriarty, told Q a few of the things he’d done.  I… I hadn’t realized what would happen.”

Bond’s eyes raked over him like being strafed. “No. no you wouldn’t would you?” His hands clenched and unclenched once at his side. “What happened?”

Sherlock carefully let John come out from the corner he’d been shoved into.  John was honestly of the opinion Bond had simply looked through the man.

Sherlock repeated calmly, “What happened?”

“He got very quiet, sort of ill looking, I didn’t pay enough attention, when he said ‘Jim wasn’t like that’, and kept talking.  I didn’t realize how bad he was until he sort of slumped to the floor.”

John was used to Sherlock’s gaze on him, but M’s was far more openly judgmental and hard. Bond’s eyes were ice.

“I got him back to his bed, with help, and found out he hadn’t been taking his pain medication at all.  After I got him set up with fluids and pain medication, his people threw me out.” John looked abashed. “I made them promise to watch him, and I’ve mostly been back since to administer his medication on schedule.  He... he hasn’t had any issues with me since, even if his people seem to hate my guts.”

“You’ve never dealt with professional business, have you?” M didn’t seem to be so much asking as telling him.

“I… I thought I had.  In Afghanistan.  I’ve seen torture before.”

Bond looked pityingly at him, “Torture is easier to deal with.”  He slowly sank into a chair as some of the tension bled out of him.

Sherlock, as usual talking as though this was just some academic problem, rubbed his hands together and stated, “Well, having gotten him away from Moriarty, and the situation, Bond should be able to  be immensely helpful in  snapping him out of it, especially since he was one of the conditioning rewards.”

“No,” Bond said immediately.

M pursed her lips thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t be needed, as long as we can keep Moriarty from reestablishing contact.  Once we have the situation secure the psychologists can have a look at him.”

“No, M.”

“If it becomes necessary, Bond, you will do what is required,” M said, and her voice was like ice.  Not for the first time John noted the similarities between the two. “For Q’s sake as well,” she said with a slightly gentler tone.

 

 


	29. Deduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV, plus a bit

Sherlock had been damnably annoyed with Mycroft ‘loaning him’ to M. “Just help hunt out the moles, Sherlock, I’m busy.” He’d tried to protest, but the part of Sherlock’s mind that was unutterably bored was secretly delighted.  Some days he cursed his brother for being able to read him so well.  Ferreting out secrets from professional secret keepers?  That sounded like fun.

So of course he’d scarcely gotten into the building when he was called in to a meeting with M, and THEN ended up waiting in a side office, utterly and appallingly bored, while they dealt with something.  As soon as the aide came to get him it was plain as anything what had caused the delay.

“Oh, so Bond’s back with Silva? Good that takes care of that little detail.  Even brought him in alive. Lovely.”

M glared at him as he came in. Someone was showing John in as well, along with Bond.

Bond started slowly pacing M’s office as though he was looking for a way out. _Damn but Bond, and M, were hard to read_. It was nerve wracking.  John was an open book of course… _What had he done? Something was off…_

“We still have spies,” Bond growled.

M quirked an eyebrow, “I highly doubt we’ve found them all, Bond.”

“Why are they here?” Bond’s eyes snapped over to John and Sherlock.

Sherlock noted the interplay between Bond and M.   _M wanted something settled; it involved John…_

Sherlock started to say about dealing with it after Silva when M cut him off. “Q collapsed a day ago.”

 “What happened?”  Bond was on edge‑ _he’d wanted to kill Silva, and hadn’t, and John had done something wrong…_

Sherlock pushed John into a corner, keeping himself between John and Bond.

Bond reminded Sherlock eerily of a snake about to strike when M simply said, “Double-O Seven, stand down.”  

Her voice may as well have been a drug. Bond’s eyes lost their killing edge, and John unexpectedly staggered into Sherlock and closed his hand on Sherlock’s arm.

John said, “I talked about Moriarty; told Q a few of the things he’d done.  I… I hadn’t realized what would happen.”

_Well obviously he’d collapsed,_ but Sherlock was hoping for more details.

 “No. No you wouldn’t, would you?” Bond’s hands clenched and unclenched once, releasing tension. “What happened?”

Sherlock carefully let John come out from the corner now that the immediate danger was past.

Sherlock repeated calmly, “What happened?” John was a reliable recorder, surprisingly observant, if you could keep him focused.

“He got very quiet, sort of ill looking, I didn’t pay enough attention, when he said ‘Jim wasn’t like that’, and kept talking.  I didn’t realize how bad he was until he sort of slumped to the floor.

 “I got him back to his bed, with help, and found out he hadn’t been taking his pain medication at all.  After I got him set up with fluids and pain medication, his people threw me out.  I made them promise to watch him, and I’ve mostly been back since to administer his medication on schedule.  He... he hasn’t had any issues with me since, even if his people seem to hate my guts.”

Sherlock was piecing it together _.  Conditioning, of course, confronted with the reality of Moriarty’s nature, would lead to intense cognitive dissonance…_

“You’ve never dealt with professional business, have you?” _M wasn’t asking_.

“I… I thought I had.  In Afghanistan.  I’ve seen torture before.”

Bond said, “Torture is easier to deal with.”   _He’d been tortured. He’d also been subjected to conditioning or brainwashing,_ Sherlock noted. _Good, he’ll understand how to break it._   Not for the first time Sherlock damned the messiness of most people’s minds. It made it so much more difficult.

 “Well, having gotten him away from Moriarty, and the situation, Bond should be able to be immensely helpful in snapping him out of it, especially since he was one of the conditioning rewards,” Sherlock said. _It was the obvious answer, after all._

“No,” Bond said immediately. _Why ever not? He certainly seemed to understand the issue._

M said thoughtfully,  “It shouldn’t be needed, as long as we can keep Moriarty from reestablishing contact.  Once we have the situation secure the psychologists can have a look at him.”

“No, M,” Bond repeated.  He was getting agitated enough that Sherlock got a glimpse of the depths and connections, just for a flash.

“If it becomes necessary, Bond, you will do what is required‑ for Q’s sake as well.”  Her voice changed pitch and the final puzzle piece slipped into place.

“You trained Bond,” Sherlock said as it finally made sense. “You trained him, that’s why he listens to you. I had thought it was conditioning of some sort.”

The walls around Bond cracked a bit further – _rage, fear, hatred of vulnerability; affection is a weakness_ ‑ before they solidified again.

M sat back slowly in her wheelchair. “Mr. Holmes, we do not encourage speculation about MI6 business, and if it was entirely up to me I would never let you near a secure government facility.  Therefore, I suggest you keep your attentions on finding our double agents and saboteurs, and then leave.”

“I don’t understand,” John said very quietly.

Sherlock started to explain, “She must have been a Double-O herself, or something similar‑“ when M cut him off.

“Your friend is already a target, Mr. Holmes. I suggest you stop adding rings to his back.”

That got through.  _The more John knew, the more danger he was in, even the slightest slip of information was deadly._

“Then I should get to work. I’ll take John with me.”

“Take Bond and go down to the cells, you can start your analysis with Silva,” M said flatly. “Meanwhile the data drive has been sent down to Q to see if he can stop the next set of agents from being revealed.”

She glanced at Bond – _reassurance, reminder to keep it professional, understanding of emotional connection_ ‑ and said “Dismissed.”

 

The three of them ended up on the other side of the interrogation room’s one-way glass while Silva was being questioned.  John gritted his teeth, as the interrogator had apparently already let go of any semblance of rules of conduct.

“I’ll… I’ll just wait outside,” John said stiffly.

“No point,” Sherlock said flatly. “They’re done.” 

Indeed, they were dragging him off to his cell.

Bond shrugged, “The main question is if he has backups of the information waiting to automatically download.  We assume he does.”

Sherlock said quietly, “Something is all wrong.” John couldn’t help but notice how pale and beautiful Sherlock was sometimes, like an angel statue.

Bond glanced at him, all blazing blue eyes and muscles moving like a cat, “You noticed that too?”

“You think it went too easily?” John guessed.

“He wants to be here.  He isn’t beaten, he wants to be here,” Sherlock said slowly. “It’s some kind of trap.”

Just then, Bond’s pocket buzzed. Bond pulled the phone out and in the utter silence of the room John heard Q’s voice on the other end. “Bond, get a team together, you’re going hunting. I’ll bring the quarry to you.” – a slight pause‑ “They are heavily armed but expecting to surprise you; shall we turn the tables?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a week's worth of updates, perhaps, to go. for this story arc.
> 
> Many of the characters have back stories i will be publishing. As you may imagine most of those are very very dark. they will be tagged, but please head all warnings. back stories will tell you useful things, and add depth to the narrative (including this one) but are not required reading.


	30. intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guess who never actually left the game...

Most of Q’s department was finally getting a break, now that Silva was captured and contained, although that break was also preparing for the heavy lifting once the captured Data drive had been dissected.  They had to peel it apart, and find any backups and fail safes, before any more agents were revealed.  You simply couldn’t count on getting any information out of a person in time, unlike a computer.

The drive was rushed into Q’s hands almost instantly of course. Just as he was about to put the captured data drive into his computer and break it wide open, a finger landed gently on Q’s lips and he froze.

“You’re very bright, Q, but you’re far too trusting.” Martin’s accent slipped lightly into a faint Irish one. “And a bit arrogant, but that’s normal.”

“Jim?” Q tried to say, all he could do was mouth it. He felt frozen; he also felt happy suddenly, like everything was back in order somehow. _No._

Jim took his finger off Q’s lips and leaned over close enough to speak quietly in his ear. “You were about to put a hacker’s data drive into your secure computer, Q.  Now pretend you’re explaining things to me.”

Q’s mind stuttered. “I’m going to rip apart the programs and use that to get to the information he had. Then we can back trace it,” he heard himself say calmly, as though this was just Martin, from the IT department, who worked for Caruthers.

Martin nodded, “Yes, sir. I’m taking notes.” Then, more quietly: “Take the computer off grid, Q and put it into your shell system.”

Q did, instantly. “Of course, we’re putting this into the shell system first,” he said, as though it was an obvious thing, barely needed to be said at all. _But it will take more TIME, they didn’t have time…_ He put the computer into the shell system anyway.   _It will take too much TIME!_ A part of Q’s mind howled, and his hand shook.  “Jim is right,” he breathed quietly, and his hand steadied.

Martin nodded and said softly, “I’m always right, Q.”

It continued like that: Q occasionally telling Martin what he was doing, for the report, and Martin mostly standing there quietly, occasionally leaning down to see better, and speak into Q’s ear.

“There,” Martin said, and he could hear Jim’s smile. “Do you see?  The attack program has activated.”

“No, I don’t… Oh, God.” Q stared in horror as the unleashed program was ripping through the fake MI6 computers.  He’d activated it by unlocking a secure code protecting the data he wanted.  Within moments, it was ‘unlocking’ and ‘opening’ doors:  it would have been letting people in to the temporary MI6, and Silva out of his cell, as well as opening the computers to multiple outside sources. Q watched in shock as it obliterated data in the phony system, and tried to dump more of it to outside lines.

“It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it Q?” Martin‑Jim‑ said admiringly.

“It’s…” _horrible, devastating, I had been so sure I knew what I was doing and I would have set it loose in our servers_.  Q started to shiver. “I would have killed us all.”

“That’s why you need someone to direct you, Q.  Now let’s get this party dancing to our tune, shall we?”  he said quietly.  He turned on his MP3 player and Q could just hear, coming through the earbuds lying on his desk, the familiar tune ‘Criminal’ playing.

Q took a deep breath and smelled Jim’s familiar lip balm close beside him. _Jim was right. Jim was always right.  He’d saved them all._ Calm settled over Q like a cloak.

Jim put down the computer he’d been making notes on. Q looked at the instructions displayed on it and nodded.

He activated the communications, “Bond, get a team together, you’re going hunting. I’ll bring the quarry to you.” He added thoughtfully, “They are heavily armed but expecting to surprise you; shall we turn the tables?”

“What’s going on Q?” came Bond’s voice on the comm, even as Q could hear Bond taking off at a run.

“Silva’s captured data was an attack Trojan. It would have set him loose. It also would have opened several doors, where I assume there are reinforcements of his waiting.  They will be expecting to pour in on unprepared agents.”

“Buggering‑“ Bond cut off abruptly. “Good job, Q. Where will they be coming in?”

Q told him which doors would have opened, plus the cell. “I have a short window of time, Bond. If I don’t open those doors soon, they may wonder.”

“Give me five.”

Martin pointed at the silence button. Q turned off his microphone.

“Good job, Q,” Jim breathed in his ear.

“No, no it wasn’t,” Q said bitterly. “I nearly got us all killed.”

“That’s why I’m here to help you. I made a deal, Q. Now, once Bond and your other friends are taking care of the backup, I want you to open Silva’s cell.”

“What? Why?” Q turned to stare at Martin. Even close up, even knowing, it was hard to see Jim’s face behind the bandage and the mop of red hair.

“Because the stolen data isn’t on this drive, Q. He needs to escape so he can go get it. You’re going to follow him electronically and intercept it.”

Q started to pull away when Martin leaned in to kiss him, but it was Jim’s soft lips, and familiar scented lip balm, that kissed Q, no matter what he looked like.

“I have to go; I’m going to follow him.  You need to keep an eye on Bond, and make sure no one else is hurt, right? And prepare to intercept the information.”

“Of course, Jim.” He felt perfectly calm. Bond thought he could handle it, Jim thought he could handle it, he only had to keep Bond safe, and open the right doors at the right time. Intercepting data wasn’t difficult, he could do that.

He turned the voice pick up back on as Martin left. “Alright Bond, they want to dance? Let’s change the tune.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in Skyfall Q didnt have anyone to stop him, and SIlva's program worked.  
> in this universe, of course, Jim made him slow down- even though they were racing against the clock- and stopped that bit of "No one beats me in computers" hubris from destroying them.
> 
> ps. go read back over Q's POV in the last chapters since they got back to MI6...


	31. shall we dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ambushes work best if the target is actually, you know, surprised?

Bond was throwing firearms out of lockup at agents, when he suddenly turned to Sherlock. “You. Me. Now.”

Sherlock just nodded and dragged John along down the hallway.

“What?” John started to protest but Bond was talking, fast.

“The problem is, I’m pretty sure we have two different KINDS of moles.”

“Silva and Moriarty,” Sherlock nodded agreement. John’s breath caught in his throat.  “We need to focus on Silva, however,” Sherlock said firmly.

“Yes, we do, and I think Jim is counting on that.” Bond smiled predatorily. “So keep your eyes out for them while you’re hunting. I half expect Jim to try to slip something over on us while we’re distracted.”

“We aren’t going to be together?” John asked, only to be greeted by one of Sherlock’s pitying looks, as though he was a rather backward child.

“No. We are going to hang well back and watch Silva,” Sherlock explained, as Bond shoved a military grade rifle into John’s hands.

“But‑!” John tried to protest, but Bond was already moving off at speed.

 

Bond raced out of the area he’d spoken to the two of them in.  It was one of the few areas with minimal surveillance and until the system was secure he didn’t trust Jim not to be watching.

He got the rest of the agents and started organizing them. The few Double-Os in the building, himself OO11, and OO5‑ who was still on  medical leave, and was taking up post guarding M‑ were best used for stealth and sniping, of course.  He reminded them that M would probably like a few alive for questioning.

“Shouldn’t I be telling YOU that?” A petite woman walked in, smiling up at him. She looked like she would break in half if you hit her. _Looks were deceiving_.

Bond grinned genuinely for what felt like the first time in a long time. “Two! When did you get back?”

She laughed and shook her head, “Just in time for the fireworks, when else?”

A few of the junior MI6 agents looked dubiously at the woman. _Admittedly being just a hair less than five foot tall did not do a lot to inspire confidence. She was blond this week_ , Bond noted idly.

“Wonderful. Glad to have you at my back.”

“Try to leave a few for me, right?”

Q spoke up on all channels, “They’re getting edgy, opening the doors in 10…9…”

After that it was a blood bath. A handful of the MI6 agents, mostly the less combat trained, were unlucky, or did something foolish and got shot, and they weren’t expecting the grenades in the second hallway, but the invading army‑and it was an army‑ wasn’t expecting organized defense.

Intermittently, Q’s calm, steady voice on the comm link would tell him about someone who had gotten away down a side hall, or one of their own that was cornered and needed help.  Once, he heard him tell OO2 about a problem at Bond’s back, followed by the satisfying gurgle of a man dying behind him.

Bond took pains to bring a few of the people down with leg wounds, especially if they looked like they were in charge, but most of them died.

Eventually it was clean up.

“Q? I haven’t heard from you in a bit, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Bond. Silva tried to dump the data on all the agents‑ I was a bit busy intercepting it. I was successful: it’s been located and contained.”

Bond nodded, “Thank you, Quartermaster, please notify M immediately.” _So I was right: when he mentioned Silva’s door being one that should open, he meant to open it.  He didn’t want me to trace him, though, and the other Double-Os were all on invasion response. Who did Q have following him? He wasn’t trying to do it purely on electronics, was he? If so, good thing I sent John and Sherlock after him._

Bond checked in the heavy duty weapons and washed off the worst of the mess.  OO2 and OO11 were having a reunion over in a dark corner.  They both got intensely interested after a mission, and OO11 got downright mean until he had a chance to blow off steam, so it was good they were both here. Bond, not for the first‑ or fortieth‑ time missed having someone reliable he could relax with after a mission.

Q would have been a wonderful option, but now? Well, as he’d protested to M, Q could scarcely give consent, could he.

He turned and headed toward Q branch.

*

John and Sherlock followed Silva at a distance as he headed out of MI6. The sounds of gunfire –and that was a grenade‑ echoing through the hallways.  John felt his perceptions collapsing down to nothing but Sherlock and the sounds of combat.  He couldn’t hear over the sound of his pulse in his ears. John found himself taking cover without thinking, and pulling Sherlock down with him as a sharper, closer sound rang off the walls.

“John? What are‑“

John only vaguely heard him, but the idiot would NOT stay down.

“John, we have to go after Silva.”

“That was a sniper.”

“Yes.” Sherlock had that baffled look again. “He’s positioned near the exit. To keep anyone from following Silva.”

“If you go out that way the sniper will blow your idiot head off!”

“I think you mean my brilliant head off.”

“The operative phrase is off.”

“So, can you take him out?”

“I’d have to get close enough to see where he was, which, since he’s already set in position, would give him a clear shot at me, first.”

There was a series of rapid gun shots, oddly muffled sounding, and a man screaming.

“I think they’re busy,” Sherlock said drily, getting up and running toward the exit.

“Sherlock!” John hissed. “Damn it!” He followed after him.

They were out on a secluded street. There was an innocuous looking van‑ or it would have been if the side wasn’t open and it wasn’t full of communication gear.

Silva was lying dead, a single shot through the head, with a phone lying inches from his hand.

There was a sniper, hands still holding his rifle, where he had fallen from behind cover.

There was a man, who’d stopped screaming, lying with a pool of blood around both knees.

Sherlock was standing very still.  John assumed he was analyzing the scene until he saw the dancing red dots.  John froze. He was still under a bit of cover.

“Oh, do come out, Johnny!” a cheerfully familiar voice sang out. “I’m more or less on your side, this time.”

“If you’re on my side why the snipers?” John shouted back. _That was dumb_ , he thought a moment after he spoke. _I just gave my position away._

“Because I didn’t trust you lot to remember I was on your side this time?” Moriarty sounded bored, “Really Johnny boy, do try to keep up.”

Sherlock said drily, “The last times we met left an impression.”

“Yes, well, things change. Oh, you might want to get a tourniquet or something on Darren there.”

John’s head snapped to the fellow with the knee shots‑ _Yes, that was Darren: the IT fellow with the easy smile, one of Q’s friends._

“Why did you shoot him if you’re on our side?” _Fuck it, no point in staying down.  Not with Sherlock pinned._   John came out and started looking Darren over.

Sherlock sighed in that put upon fashion, “John, couldn’t you have stayed under cover?”

“Tsk, of course he couldn’t.” Moriarty’s voice got a touch clearer as he wandered around the van to stand just out of John’s vision. “And as to why I shot Darren? He was working for Silva, of course.” He giggled, “Q’s taste in men is rather… interesting.”

“What?” John was getting the bleeding stopped, although it mostly had. The fellow was already going into shock, but he might pull through.

Sherlock nodded, “Bond is a spy and a killer; so was Darren.” He looked thoughtfully in the direction of Moriarty, “So are you.”

“It did make it easier, yes,” Moriarty said cheerfully. “Anyway, Hostage Time.”

John stood up resignedly and started to move forward.

“OH! Oh no Johnny, not you this time‑ perfectly understandable, really, but it’s Sherlock’s turn. Don’t be jealous.”

“What?” John stammered and looked at Sherlock, to be greeted by a baffled look.

 “Come along Sherlock.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Just come along quietly and no one has to get hurt.”

“John, please don’t do anything stupid,” Sherlock said firmly as he walked toward Moriarty’s voice.

“What?! What’s going on?”

John felt a sharp pain in his arm and looked down to see a tiny dart sticking in him.  The ground raced up to meet him but before he lost consciousness he heard Moriarty’s voice saying, “Well, you know, he would have‑ done something stupid. Instead he’ll just take a little nap, then he can go tell everyone you’ve been taken. C’mon then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Darren worked for Silva.


	32. Face the music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smooth Criminal is his theme song, one of them anyway.

Bond saw some of the non-combatants being allowed out of the lunchroom as he headed toward Q branch.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong‑ that he’d missed something.

It was with a ridiculous level of relief that he saw Q sitting at the computer, putting away various pieces of communication equipment and otherwise going through the mechanical motions of shutting down after a mission.

“I was worried about you, Q.” Bond tried to make it sound casual; it came out as a low rumble.

Q’s head turned into the sound with a soft smile, he looked up at Bond through that unruly mop of hair‑even more unruly after wearing head phones‑ and just looked at him. “I’m always worried about you, Bond.  Why worry about me?”

_Something was off_.  Bond walked up and leaned into Q’s personal space, closing his laptop with his off hand.  He had a momentary flash of having done this when he kissed the silly boffin, what felt like years ago.

“Is something wrong, Bond?” Q looked up at him, breathing a bit more deeply than might be expected unless you knew their history.

_Eyes dilated‑that could be interest‑ breathing a bit too slow, deep, and steady, lips flushed, cheeks flushed, heart rate too slow… he was in a meditative or a hypnotic state…  How? What could have triggered it?_

Bond’s eyes fell on an MP3 player lying near Q’s hand.

“What’s this?” Bond kept his eyes on Q as he picked it up. 

Q started to frown, his eyes flicked back and forth between Bond and the MP3 player. “It’s an MP3 player, Bond, even someone as disastrous with equipment as you must recognize it?”

No real bite in the words, no flirting either, but he sounded distressed. His breathing was picking up a bit too.  Bond put the MP3 earbuds to his ear and hit replay, knowing he’d hear some Irish pub tune.

Pop music, exactly the kind of thing you’d hear on the radio, or waiting in a shop, started playing.

“Sorry, Q,” Bond smiled, “I guess I’ve just gotten a bit twitchy.”

“That’s alright. Give it back?” Q still sounded worried.

And suddenly Bond listened to the music, just barely audible:  “He is a villain by the devil's law; He is a killer just for fun, fun, fun, fun…”

_Why did we assume he wouldn’t use anything but Irish music?_ “Q, where did this come from?”

“I don’t know, it must belong to someone, why?” He said in rhythm to the music, and Bond almost heard him begging for help.

The music in the earphones was being mouthed by Q, apparently without him realizing it, “But mama I'm in love with a criminal, And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical…” They’d been set loud enough to be able to be heard even lying on the desk, if you already knew the song.

Bond moved away, and Q barely noticed, continuing to work on the computers, the video monitors being turned off one at a time… Bond called M.

“Yes, Bond?”

“We have an active agent of Jim’s in the building; maintain your security, M, and try to do a sweep outside, especially for Silva. I’m going to have to try to get some answers.”

There was the briefest of pauses, “I’m sorry, Bond. I’ll clear people out of the department.”

Bond hung up and walked back over to Q’s desk. He turned off the music. “Q, can we step into your office, please.”

“Of course?” He sounded confused, but he led Bond into the room he’d been using as his office.  The hospital bed was there, but there was a sofa.

“Q… believe me, I really wish there was another way.”

“What?” Q turned and looked quizzically at Bond, and Bond moved him gently but firmly down into the sofa.

“Um… I believe I already said I was interested, Bond, but do we really have time?”

“Who was it, Q?” Bond kissed him until he felt Q arch into it and then pulled back “Who?”

“I… I have no idea what…” Q gasped.

Bond took his wrists and held them effortlessly as he kissed his way down Q’s neck. Q was shivering, but made no attempt to stop him, just bit his lips and made tiny panting noises.

“Who… “‑Bond bit at Qs collarbone, felt Q respond, and changed tactics, getting rougher… “Whose MP3 player was it?”

“M‑ no, I can’t…” Q made little halfhearted attempts to pull away.

Bond pulled back and stared, ice blue eyes into  brown eyes blown to black….he saw fear  then, in Qs eyes, and conflict, but… not aimed at him.  Bond nodded, and went back to work, taking Q apart by mouthfuls.

Eventually Q had his hands gripped in Bond’s hair and was making pleading noises.

“Who brought you the mp3 player, Q?”

“M-Martin…from the IT Department. He works for Caruthers.”

Bond cocked his ear and remembered, that was the exact way he’d been introduced.

“When did you first meet Martin?

“He works in the‑“

“I asked” Bond said as he bit Qs ear gently, and dragged his teeth across his earlobe‑Q whimpered and tried to pull Bond in closer‑ “when you first met him.”

“I… I don’t know.”

_Hmmm, well that was at least an answer._ Bond pushed Q back into the sofa and started making short work of what was left of his shirt. He leaned in and teased at a nipple with his tongue.  He appeared to be sensitive there, good.  Bond started working him over more, holding him down on the sofa to keep him from moving too much.

“You don’t remember seeing him before the hospital, do you?”

“Nno.” Q gasped. “No, I don’t… oh God, don’t stop!”

“He came in with the MP3 player, then what happened?”

“I can’t‑“

“You will.” Bond growled into his neck.

 

Q had felt like his mind was being pulled apart, like the liquid taffy he’d spent so much time submerged in had become a part of him, and he was slowly and inexorably being pulled until he snapped free.  It was terrifying, but he didn’t want Bond to stop. Ever.

Q honestly couldn’t tell any more if what Bond was doing hurt, or felt like heaven, or both. When he tried to lift his head to respond, Bond simply moved his mouth to another spot and sent sensation arcing through his body until his mind simply overloaded and shut down.

“You…” Bond’s voice settled in to a mind gone blank “will tell me everything.”

He felt his mind try desperately to come back online, he managed to open his eyes and he tried to speak, and blue eyes that looked like the heat of a fusion reactor were looking down at him.

“‑Everything.” Q tried to say. He didn’t know if he managed before Bond moved his mouth down Q’s throat, and continued branding bruises and lightning arcs of pleasure down his chest. Bond bit him, then, hard, on the chest, and Q’s mind whited out again.

 

Eventually Bond pulled Q up into a searing Kiss, but he was limp and unresisting. He moaned when Bond pulled his lower lip with his teeth, though.

“What happened after Martin came in with the MP3 player, Q?” Bond asked softly, while petting gently over what were going to be spectacular bruises soon.

“Jim… Jim told me to put the data in the shell… system.” Bond kept rewarding him; his neck was going to be a mess tomorrow, and Bond was fairly certain that bite would leave a mark.

“And?” Bond’s voice was as gentle as a breath against the ring of bruises his mouth had left.

“T‑told me what to do… showed me the attack program… Then he left to go after Silva.”

Bond slid his hand back down Q’s back and pulled him in closer, “You mean Martin left?” he murmured into Q’s bitten ear.

“Martin was Jim… he was always Jim… I didn’t know….”

Bond froze as the pieces fell into place like a rifle bolt sliding home

He’d not trusted Martin, _even wounded, something was off but Q had identified him… after he’d given Q the trigger phrase…. “It’s Martin… from the IT department, I work for Caruthers.” The same phrase, every time. He’d been in and out the whole time, with access to Q while he was under on pain meds… and he’d been here when the data drive…._

“Where is he now?” Bond carefully relaxed his hand, which had started to flex into Q dangerously hard.

“I don’t know, he told me to look after you and worry about the data from Silva.”  Q was crying softly now, “I did.”  Bond stroked Q carefully, watching as he moved into the slightest touch. His words tumbling out faster and faster.

“He saved us all, Bond.  I was about to put the data drive in the system, but it was trapped. I was so sure I could handle anything…. “ Q looked up at him, blind without his glasses, tears rolling down his face.  “He saved your life. He saved all of us, I was so stupid.”

“It’s alright Q, here,” he pulled him closer. “You need to tell me, that’s all. You always need to tell me.”

Q melted into Bond, shivering, as Bond gently stroked his back, and contemplated murder.

 


	33. The Wolf At The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> really, it was almost the same cover story.

John woke up as ceiling lights flashed overhead. _Gurney… moving… not Afghanistan… London?_   Suddenly he remembered and shouted, “Sherlock!”

He had the devil’s own time convincing the medical people to get him M, but apparently agents like Bond had trained them to believe someone when you threatened to kill them, in detail, if they didn’t.

A very lethal looking young man, who moved gracefully despite a walking cast‑and John would have said THAT was impossible‑ came in with M.

“Dr. Watson,” M said flatly. “You managed to convince my people to get me down here; make it fast.”

“Moriarty’s men shot Silva and his agents, drugged me, and kidnapped Sherlock. Call Mycroft NOW.”

M nodded slowly and at a subtle gesture one of the people who had come in behind her‑Tanner, John thought‑ stepped aside with a phone. “Do you have any idea why one of the other people had both of his knees shot?” M asked him.

“Moriarty said that he worked for Silva… I don’t know if he did.  His name is Darren, he worked in the IT department, and was one of the people who took care of Q after they chased me out!”

M raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Possible.  Well, if he survives, we’ll send him to interrogation.”

“Where’s Bond?”

“Doing what I thought he would have to do, and what your Mr. Holmes suggested: trying to break Q out of the conditioning, and get some answers.”

“He… seemed to think that was a bad idea.”

“It may be; our options are limited.  Did Moriarty give you any idea of why he left you alive and unconscious, the others dead, one crippled, and kidnapped your associate?”

“I suspect he left Darren alive so you could question him.” John looked at the rather intimidatingly frosty woman in front of him and decided to give her the same kind of report he’d give Sherlock.  “He made a snarky remark about Q’s taste in men… Sherlock pointed out that Bond, Darren, and Moriarty were all spies and killers.”

M cocked her head to the side and nodded once, sharply, as though a fact had just been filed away. “Anything else?”

“He said it was ‘Hostage Time’… I assumed he meant me, but he said no, it was Sherlock’s turn, although he understood why I assumed it was me.” He grimaced, “Then I got hit with the dart.  I heard him say that I would have done something stupid otherwise, but now I was just going to be out for a bit and then I could go tell you Moriarty had taken him.”

“Which explains why you were left neatly tucked against the van.”

“I’d been flat on the pavement next to Darren; I suppose I was moved.”

He ended up going over it all again after Mycroft arrived.  Mycroft, predictably, looked furious‑for Mycroft.

Bond eventually showed up; he looked… closed. John tried to talk to him and got a flat “Later,” after which he was asked to go over it all again.

“He said ‘Q’s taste in men’, did he?” Bond asked after he’d gone over the story for the third time.

“Yes.”

“So he’d been interested in Darren.” Bond didn’t seem angry, although John had expected him to be.

Mycroft turned his head slowly and looked at Bond. “What are you thinking?”

John nearly fell off his chair. _Mycroft knew what people were thinking before THEY knew; it had to be just to get Bond to explain it for the others._

“I’m wondering if Jim didn’t slip into MI6 for more reasons than I thought.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, “He was here?”

“Wait, what?!” John tried to avoid snapping his head back and forth between them.

Luckily, Tanner picked up the questions: “You mean Moriarty was physically in the building? Not just in the computers?”

“Yes.  He used the name Martin.” A muscle jumped in Bond’s jaw and his hand clenched and unclenched. “I believe most of you saw him: among other things, he delivered Q’s equipment from MI6 to the hospital.”

Mycroft’s eyes blazed fury for a split second before they shuttered again; John had never seen anything so terrifying in his life. “He walked right into the room with me? I talked to him? And I didn’t notice?” Mycroft said softly. “I’m… impressed.”  It sounded like a threat.

M said icily, “Yes, I met Martin.  He’s the one who suggested simply putting better security on all data going out, until we could re-do the system.” She looked thoughtfully at Bond, “He was… convincing.”

John weakly spoke up, “He fooled Sherlock before.  He impersonated an ordinary fellow in the hospital, in the…” ‑his eyes widened‑”IT department.  He was Jim from the IT department‑ my GOD it was almost the same cover.”

Bond was slowly smiling; it felt like the deadly edge was bleeding off of him. “It was, wasn’t it?  Jim… from the IT department.  Martin… from the IT department… who worked for Caruthers.” Bond shook his head ruefully. “That was the trigger phrase, by the way: once he said that, Q believed he knew him. Of course, once Q identified him, I put a lot of my doubts aside.”

John’s phone rang suddenly.

“That will be Jim,” Bond said. Mycroft nodded.

“Hello?” John fought his mouth going dry. _If anything had happened to Sherlock…_

“Johnny boy! Glad to hear you’re all up and around. Have a nice nap?”

“Where’s Sherlock?”

“Out cold.  Probably for the best, he doesn’t get enough sleep.  Put me on speaker.”

John put the phone on the table and put the speaker on. “You’re on.”

“I always am,” purred Jim’s voice smugly.

“Hello, Jim.” Bond’s voice still had an edge to it.

“Q didn’t call in. I assume you managed to snap him out of it?”

“Yes,” Bond down right growled.

“Now, Bond… you know he dreamed about it.  I mean I did encourage him, but I hardly made it up.  He apparently has magnificent taste in men.” There was a pause. “Well, except for Darren, but that was an old crush and it never went anywhere.”

“Is that why you came in as Martin?”

“Yes. That and because I could.  Darren would have…” There was a long pause and the tension among all the spies was palpable. “Bond, do you remember your discussion of Philosophy?”

From the rapid blinking on M and Tanner’s faces, and the frown on Mycroft’s, John assumed he wasn’t the only one bewildered by the turn of the conversation.

“Yes.” Bond clearly wasn’t bewildered.

“I didn’t break Q.  I might have bent him a bit, but I didn’t break him: Darren would have damaged him if he’d gotten at him when he was vulnerable.”

Bond nodded slowly. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“I can think of ways you could do that.” Jim’s voice was back to his usual innuendo and teasing.

Mycroft tensed.  He must have made some kind of noise that John hadn’t heard because Jim’s voice came lilting through the speakers, with far more Irish accent than usual.

“Mycroft? Iceman… you aren’t usually so quiet, you’ve usually threatened me a few times by now.  What’s the matter, don’t you like me anymore?”

“Why did you take Sherlock?”

“Tsk! Obviously as a hostage on your good behavior; why else does anyone take Sherlock hostage?”

“You bargained for a debt‑“

Jim interrupted, “Which James darling will keep.  I suspect M would‑ I don’t know her that well‑ but now that I have all the copies of Silva’s files, so will she.”

“What?” M sounded coldly furious. “As I said, trading one intolerable situation for another is not acceptable.”

“Ah, but the difference, my dear ‘Mother’, is that I keep my word.  That information will only be released if you break yours.”

M looked questioningly at Mycroft, Mycroft nodded slowly. “So why Sherlock?”

“Because Mycroft, if you convinced yourself it was for Queen and Country, you’d have me back in a cell before we could finish our discussion.  Now do tell the guards to let me in, I’m at the front door.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> interesting commentary on who keeps their word, eh? notice that Mycroft didn't argue.


	34. The Lion’s Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what does Jim get out of this?  
> and talks with Q

Jim walked into the conference room of MI6, neatly groomed, unharmed, and in one of his better suits.

“I’ve come to collect,” he said smiling and looking completely unconcerned.

Bond nodded. “Q said you prevented Silva’s plan from working.  If those doors had opened up without us being forewarned…”

“Not only would the information still be vulnerable, but my estimation says most of the assets of MI6 would be dead. Don’t you agree, Mycroft?”

“Unfortunately,” said Mycroft grimly.

“So my debts have increased in value.” Moriarty smiled. “I always did like investing.”

Bond just leaned up against the wall, watching. John felt like screaming.

“What are you asking for, then?” M’s clipped tones said ‘back to business’ as clear as anything.

“Why, as it happens, I have a solution to all of our problems at once.” Jim smiled. “I’m efficient that way.”

“Get on with it,” Mycroft actually growled.

“You and M are going to work with Q to delete and edit records, and then you are going to quietly explain to all the IMPORTANT people that I was working with you the entire time.”

“I BEG your pardon?” M said, her eyebrows flying up to her hairline.

“Well, almost a pardon,” Moriarty said smiling. “You’re simply going to let it out that everything I’ve done, including  the most recent public business, was to smoke out traitors you suspected. Since I was working with you the whole time, I was able to minimize casualties, and help you find and apprehend Silva, the ACTUAL computer hacker threat to England… not me, of course.” He winked at Mycroft, “I’ve been on your side the whole time.”

“That’s INSANE!” John finally spluttered.

“Actually, it would work,” Bond said flatly, not moving from the wall. “And it would give us an in to a lot of Jim’s information network.”

“Wouldn’t it, though?” Moriarty smirked.

“It would give you more access to our information,” M said tightly.

“If I wanted it, I already got it,” Moriarty said dismissively. “Now, you two can debate and figure out how you want to do this, because that’s my chit on M and Mycroft.”

“What about mine?” Bond let his eyes track over Jim.

“You owe me for Q, and for this,” Jim said smiling up at him. “But I’ve got to save something for Christmas.”

“That’s it, then? You want to leave it open?”

“As I said, James, I trust you to keep your end of the bargain.”  John was beginning to feel like he was intruding somehow.  Judging from the looks from M, and the completely closed affect of Mycroft, they felt it too.  “In any event, you should let me speak to Q.”

“You MUST be joking,” Bond said, looking openly surprised.

“No. Turnabout’s fair play, James.” He smirked briefly, then said more levelly, “Besides, I suspect he has some questions. It might help settle things.”

“Absolutely not,” M said firmly.

“Oh, you can put us both in the glass walled conference room,” Jim said, quietly reminding everyone that he’d been in the building, and knew every room. “That way you’ll be able to see us the entire time.”

“You want to be left alone in a room with him? You’ve completely lost your mind,” Mycroft said firmly.

Bond looked at M, and back at Jim, and frowned. “It might help.”

Jim just sat back against M’s desk, and smiled. Bond considered warning him not to sit on M’s desk, but decided he’d have to learn on his own.  Apparently the laser-like glare she was shooting at him from her wheelchair eventually convinced him and he stood back up.  Bond thought it was amusing to watch him trying to act nonchalant, and unruffled‑God knows he’d tried, but M’s glares were legendary.

“If he tries to sign on as a Double-O, I’ll kill him myself,” M muttered. Mycroft flinched.

Jim just smiled, and his nose crinkled up. Bond thought he’d best change the subject before THAT idea got going. “Come on, then. I’ll go get Q and meet you there.” He shrugged, “Assuming HE wants to talk to YOU.”

“He will.” Jim smirked as he walked out, “He’s almost as impossibly curious as you are, James.”

 

“He wants to what?!” Q said incredulously.

“He said you might have some questions,” Bond said, looking him over. “I didn’t know if you wanted to see him.  It helped me to see the person who had me, when I wasn’t a prisoner anymore, but… it’s up to you.”

Q felt furiously, coldly angry that anyone had ever tried anything like this on Bond.  When his jaw clenched, the bruises on his jaw and neck twinged, and Q felt his knees go weak. Bond caught him and put him back into the wheelchair.

“I’m sorry, Q.” Bond sounded almost lost.

Q pulled his scattered wits together and looked up at him. “Don’t be.” He frowned. “Unless you REALLY didn’t mean it when you kissed me that first time, in which case I will make your life a living hell,” he said with real venom.

Bond blinked a few times, and grinned. “I meant it.  I just didn’t think you were in any condition to consent this last time.”

“I wasn’t,” Q admitted. “But it did clear my head marvelously.”

“Maybe once you feel a bit more yourself, we could try that again?”

“Mmmm... I think I’d like that,” Q smiled. “But I for damn sure want a safeword, you bite hard.”

Bond pulled his hand off Q’s shoulder as if he’d been shocked. “Since when do shy little virginal boffins like you know about safewords?”

“First of all, if you think the internet is a place free of sexual references, it’s no wonder you destroy any equipment you get your hands on.” Bond couldn’t help but laugh. “Secondly, I might be a bit shy around… people I care for… but I’m hardly virginal.”

Bond pushed him the rest of the way in silence, wondering how hard it would be to run a background check on the man who could make computers sit up and beg.

 

Q insisted on going into the conference room on his own. Jim was standing over near the coffee maker, pouring cream into a steaming cup, as he came in.

“Hello, Jim.” He resisted the temptation to walk over to him, staying on the other side of the table, near the door.

“Q.” The familiar timbre of Jim’s voice soothed. Q gritted his teeth. “I rather figured you were entitled to some answers,” ‑his eyes flickered to the glass‑ “but I doubt you want this recorded.”

Q thought about it. _No, I really don’t_. He pulled out his phone and tapped it before setting it down. Jim didn’t come any closer; in fact, he turned his back, apparently looking at the coffeemaker.

“They all read lips, you know. As long as you keep your back to them, they’ll only get the generalities,” Jim said.  With a start, Q realized it was true.

“What do you want from me, Jim?” Q felt so damned tired. “I won’t even have access to MI6 anymore thanks to you, but I’m not coming to work for you.”

Jim’s head cocked to the side, he turned around, letting the audience see him speak, “Didn’t they tell you? I’m officially working on your side‑ have been the entire time.” Jim smiled and his eyes just absolutely glittered with amusement. “At least that’s our story. I was pretending to be the big bad evildoer to smoke out the traitors in MI6.  You’re going to have to help put the cover story in place: you know, a few bread crumbs here and there so if people dig, they find out my entire evil reputation was all a government plant.” He smiled down into his cup, “I’m one of the good guys.”

“Like HELL!” Q stared at him.

With his back once again to the audience Jim was laughing. “Well, I mean you know better. Still, you owe me.”

“I owe YOU?” Q just sputtered. He finally sat back down in the wheelchair. “Alright, I suppose I do. You saved my life twice, at least.  I think brainwashing me has to erase a bit of that, though.”

Jim waved a hand idly, “I’ll grant you that, but what about all the other things I did for you?”

“Like bloody what?!”

“Keeping you safe from Darren,” Jim said softly.

Q flinched. “I never did anything with him: he was in my department, I wouldn’t have. If he was a threat, it was because I was… not myself.”

“Do you remember what I promised you, Q?” Jim’s voice had gotten soft, and Q fought to keep from going under. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Bond, leaning up against the glass, getting as good a look at him as he could, completely still except for those insanely blue eyes.

Q took a steadying breath, and looked back at Jim. “No.”

“I said I would make all your fantasies come true, and that Bond would come for you. I said that everything would be the same as it was, except you would have Bond.” Jim rolled his head and shoulders in a very sensual fashion. “You told me all your fantasies, Q; why do you think I set the conditioning up the way I did?  Did you enjoy being interrogated by Bond? Was it as good as it sounded when he did it to all those other people? When he had his hands, and mouth, on you? Making you answer him?”

Q knew his mouth was hanging open. He was certain he was deep red to the roots of his hair. He managed to stammer out, “How did you know?”

“Well, first of all, the bruises show even with that shirt.”  Q tried to become a turtle, pulling his head and neck into his collar; it didn’t work. “Secondly? You know I love to watch, Q. I had your office bugged from the first day. I told you I would.”

_“Then everything will go back to the way it was, except you’ll be with James.” Jim had smiled and kissed him. “And I’ll get to watch.”_

Q quietly answered, “And then later, we’ll all be together again.”

Jim turned around then and smiled, over Q’s head at Bond. “You do have the most interesting taste in men, Q.”

“Apparently.” Q managed to sound dry and sarcastic. _No, I have dangerous taste in men- I've been burned enough_.

“And you were MARVELOUS bait.” Jim’s nose crunched up adorably when he smiled that way.

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“See you later, Q.” Jim walked briskly past him out the door, somehow managing to say‑ without moving his lips that Q could see: “Don’t move the cameras in your apartment, right?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is longer as it wraps the threads from several plotlines.  
> ps. yes that is exactly what Jim promised/threatened Q when he had him.


	35. River of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping up, and beginning again

John was tasked with walking Q back to medical and keeping an eye on him. Q mostly kept glaring at Jim, which Jim ignored completely.

They went back to M’s office: just Jim, M, Mycroft, and Bond.

“All worked out, then?” Jim smiled happily at them.

“Yes,” M said.

“You honestly think that I’ll do this because you have Sherlock hostage?” Mycroft sounded coldly furious.

“I think, Mycroft, that your baby brother is the only thing in this world, or any other, that you actually care about as much as yourself.  Why do you think I love playing with him so?” A bitter smile danced across Jim’s face as he turned to leave.

Bond nodded, once, “I didn’t think Sherlock was your type.” _Mycroft though, Mycroft might just be._

Jim stopped in his motion to leave and turned to face Bond. “He’s not.  He’s still fun to play with, though. As I said, I play all sorts of games.” He smiled, and this time Bond saw it in his eyes, darkly amused. “And now look, James: we’re even mostly on the same side, both officially serving Crown and Country… or we will be once everyone does their job.”

“I didn’t think serving was your style.” Bond couldn’t help it; flirting with Jim just came too easily.

Jim took a single step back into the room and stood looking up at Bond, “It isn’t.” His smile was all edges. “But you did say you wanted to repay that kiss. You’re welcome to try.”

Out of the corner of his eye Bond saw Mycroft tense, and he knew he’d been right. “I also said the next time one of us was likely to end up dead.”

“Not this time.”

“No, not this time.” Bond just nodded, no matter how much he wanted to stride forward and take that man to the ground.  The problem was, he wasn’t entirely sure whether he wanted to kill him or kiss him.

“But as I said, James,”‑the voice was a blade against his neck and a caress all in one‑ “we’ll officially be on the same side.  Won’t that be interesting?” 

And then without warning, his voice dropped back into a lighter tone, playful and uncaring, “Ta, all.  Sherlock will be returned as soon as everything’s all done.” And he walked out the door without a care in the world.

No one said anything for several beats.

“Well, M, I need to be pulled off duty to help Q get set up with counseling.” Bond turned his blandly blue eyes back to her.  M wasn’t fooled for a moment.

“You’ve gotten his attention, apparently,” Mycroft said thoughtfully. “I’d be careful; his attentions can be deadly.”

“From him?” Bond smiled pleasantly, “Or from you?”

“Both.” Mycroft simply gathered his things and left.

M looked after him, and then back at Bond. “Well. That was unexpected.”

“More his type, though,” Bond said nodding at the door.

“It might explain some things.” M said thoughtfully, then changed the subject, “Moriarty still holds some debts over you. I expect you to actually report, for once, if they get called.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Your reports should be filed under speculative fiction, Bond.”

Bond smiled at her fondly, “Well, obviously, you have to have something fun to read.”

“Get out, Bond.” She shook her head fondly at him and went back to work.

He found Q back in his office, directing John and several of the Q and IT branch in scouring his office.  Everyone was pointedly NOT mentioning the bruises.

“What’s going on?” Bond asked, and then stopped as he recognized bits of cameras being piled up on the hospital bed.

“Apparently my office was practically wired for 3D,” Q said as a flush hit his cheeks, but his voice didn’t break. “One copy to my computer, one copy outside. You may guess where.”

“Oh.” Bond looked warily at Q, but he seemed to be… _actually, he seemed to be alright_. “I take it he mentioned something.”

“Yes,” Q answered flatly. “We can discuss it later.”

“That seems to be all of it, Q,” Oscar said.

“I can’t believe Darren was a spy!” Jen whispered, as she bundled all the pieces up in a sheet.

Q nodded, and glanced at Bond, “And Martin was a counterespionage agent of ours.  Hard to believe, isn’t it? I knew Darren from back when I just started here.”

Bond nodded tiredly, all the betrayals from past years coming up to haunt him. “It’s one of the damning things in this business.”

“I already explained,” Q nodded at the crew as he addressed Bond, “that I will need some time off work for therapy.  However, the system is in no way secured and I would like to fix that.”

“I think being back to work would probably help you,” Bond said nodding. “It helps me.”

“Ah? The real reason you won’t go to medical? Work is so much more effective?” Q’s voice was back to normal: professionally teasing and, yes‑Bond could hear it now‑ flirting.

“That and none of the nurses are good looking enough.” Bond shrugged easily. “I have a lot to wrap up: among other things, I need to check on Jamie, and then we’re waiting for packages.”

John Watson nodded tiredly. “You think… everything will be alright?”

Bond looked at him, and wondered about Mycroft, and Jim.  All he said was, “That depends on your definition.  I think it will go as discussed.”

 

It was two days and just a bit later, and John was home with Mary when the call came in. “Hello?” John had almost broken an ankle getting to the phone.

“What did you trip over, John?” Sherlock’s voice asked, tired sounding but alive.

 John collapsed into a chair. “Coffee table.”

“You shouldn’t be pacing like that.”

“I was worried about you, you insufferable git!”

“I-I’m fine.” _Sherlock was not fine._

“You’re lying. What did that bastard do to you?” Mary looked over in alarm.

“Can you come get me?” Sherlock said, not answering. “I’m afraid I’m a bit unsteady.”  He gave the address of one of the nicer hotels in London. “Room 221, of course; Moriarty has an appalling sense of humor.”

“Have you called Mycroft?”

“He’s next.” _Sherlock sounded awful._

John kissed Mary goodbye and ran out the door.  When he got to the hotel, it was obvious just how out of place he was in his comfortable jumper and worn shoes.  He got to the room as fast as he could. Sherlock opened the door, standing behind it, when he knocked.

“I look fairly appalling, I’m afraid,” Sherlock said tiredly from behind him as John almost fell into the room.

It was a beautiful room, the kind of room that got featured in magazines. It definitely didn’t look as though anyone had been tortured here.  John turned to face Sherlock, wondering how much damage he was going to have to patch up, and stared.

_Sherlock looked beautiful. I mean, he was always good looking, but he looked perfect._   He was in a suit that someone had custom fit to him so he looked tall and elegant instead of knobby. The shirt showed a perfect ivory column of throat.  His hair had been  tamed, so it fell in an artfully tousled fashion, looking like he’d just gotten out of bed‑or was about to go to bed. John blinked a few times. His musician’s hands were intact, and in fact he appeared to have had a manicure.  His skin looked rested and healthy, if still too pale.

“You… You look incredible!” John stared at him. “Appalling? You… you look like a model who spent a week at the spa!”

Sherlock threw himself moodily down into the chair. _It did not help in the slightest_. “It’s awful.” He muttered, “I tried to go out, people stared at me.”

“Sherlock?” Mycroft’s voice came from the door. He sounded as stunned as John felt.

“This is entirely your fault!” Sherlock snarled at Mycroft.

Mycroft became very still.  He looked Sherlock up and down worriedly. “No, he didn’t,” he said finally.

“No, he didn’t,” Sherlock concurred with real venom in his voice. “But he could have.”

“I don’t understand.” John looked back and forth, “Look, can you PLEASE take it down to ‘fairly intelligent but not a bloody Holmes’ levels?”

Sherlock looked at John and his face softened. “Moriarty apparently dealt with my brother a great deal more than we ever knew.  He didn’t let me know many details, but enough to know that at least his initial interest in me was because of Mycroft.”

“And?” John looked worriedly at Sherlock as some rather unpleasant thoughts started coming to the surface.

“He didn’t rape me or damage me, although he made it rather clear that he could have.” Sherlock shuddered, and then glared at Mycroft. “He left a message for you.”

“I’m sorry. I never meant for you to be involved in my business, you know that.”

Sherlock waved him at a desk with a single piece of stationary on it. “I’ve read it already.”

 

 In Jim’s familiar beautiful script, Mycroft read:

_“Mycroft my sweet,_

_Someday ask James about his philosophy on breaking valuable things. It’s why you still have a Sherlock to play with._

_Oh, and if you touch James, you won’t. I’ll see to it personally.  In fact, I’ll leave a shell for you to find; you know I can._

_With love, as always, Jim”_

Mycroft picked it up, smelling Jim’s cologne and seeing the faintest impression of lips in the corner of the letter.  He crushed the paper in his hand and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

 

“Go home, Sherlock. He won’t bother you.” He stood tensely, with his back to the two men.

John took Sherlock home, where he disappeared into a shower and wasn’t seen until the next day, after he’d apparently managed to find some suitably disheveled clothing and destroy his hair and manicure.

 

MI6 got back to business, with Q putting up with what he complained were ‘positively ancient’ psychology techniques for recovering from conditioning. Q branch, fortunately, had never been much of a place for music, and Q now insisted on having utter control over anything played in the office.

It was only a few weeks later, Bond having almost stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop from Mycroft, when Q invited him to come out with  the entire branch for  a drink at the local pub.

“My counselor, who is clearly an idiot, says I should start exposing myself to music under controlled circumstances. I’d appreciate it if you came along, Bond.”

“On one condition,” Bond smiled at him.

“What?”

“I refuse to hang about in a pub being called ‘Bond’. It’s James.”

Q made a face, but it didn’t look serious. “All right. James.”

“You know I have no idea what your name is, Q?”

Q pulled himself up firmly. “It’s Q.”

“You expect me to hang about in a pub and call you Q?” Bond asked incredulously.

“Everyone else will be.” 

And so, it turned out, they did. Q seemed a bit tense sometimes, and Bond quietly let him lean into him at certain songs, but eventually it was just a group of co-workers hanging out at a pub, some a wee bit further into the land of the drunk than others.

The cover band had played a few Irish songs, which Q weathered stoically, and then switched over to older pop tunes. Q asked for Billy Joel, of all things‑ probably because it didn’t have any unpleasant connotations.

 Q didn’t have more than one beer, and neither did Bond, but Q asked him for company home, and Bond thought that seemed safer.  He knew how much stress confronting a trigger could be.

Bond walked him up to the door and gave him a chaste kiss goodnight.

Q raised an eyebrow, “I expected better of you.”

Bond smiled lazily down at him, “Oh?”

“I know you can kiss better than THAT.”

Bond leaned into his space, pushing him up against the doorframe with sheer mass. “Maybe I was waiting for an invitation.”

“For a kiss? You have it.” Q smiled, “The doctors tell me I’m cleared for… more active pursuits… soon.”

Bond kissed Q then.  It was like being kissed by an inferno‑ it left scorch marks.

Q stuttered goodnight up at him and slipped into the house.

He made himself a cup of tea, and looked up thoughtfully at one of the cameras.  They were works of art, really, and Q was certain no one but an expert, who knew they were there, could ever find them.  The signal was cloaked as well.

“I never bring work home, so there’s nothing security wise to see here...” he said, as if he was musing to himself. “But I just might be bringing James home, in a few weeks, assuming he isn’t away on a mission.”

He finished his tea and went to bed.  He missed having someone stroke his hair‑ _I wonder if James will?_ But he could just picture Jim, sitting in front of a computer, smiling and humming something.

_Bond never asked me what HIS song was_ , Q mused sleepily, as he brought up one of his favorite fantasies to go to sleep to.  He turned on his music‑ he almost always fell asleep to the same song, the song Q had chosen for Bond; Jim had agreed it was perfect.

The drum and string opening and familiar voice started playing: “Some days when I'm far away, in a lonely room in a cold seclusion… Some nights when I'm wound so tight, there is no release, there is no solution…”

Q fell asleep, dreaming of cool steady hands, and blue eyes that burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter (epilogue) to go before this one concludes.  
> IF you want to know what happened to Sherlock, go to part 2, if thats not your cup of tea? skip it and go directly to part 3 "we could be heroes"


	36. Epilogue M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technically this takes place during parts of the last chapter.  
> This is the end of THIS story arc, Thank you for reading. Please see the Notes.

M sat in her home office and went over the events in her mind, again. She let her mind release the orderly reports, and called on the insight and instinct that had kept her and her people alive when nothing else could.

Bond. Q. Moriarty. Mycroft.  And one other.  Two of her own, one opponent, one question, and one lost opportunity.  Mycroft was supposed to be an ally, but there was no doubt now that he wasn’t. The question was: what was he?

She swirled the ice in her drink. 

Bond had met Moriarty with that horribly stupid terrorist attack on the hotel, and there had been sparks‑ that was fine, of course; Bond did his best work in bed, or flirting.  People joked about it, but it was true, sex was a tool, and Bond was GOOD at it.  Normally, any interest between Bond and an opponent would end up tipping the scales firmly in favor of the Double-O.

Only M had any idea of what it cost him.

But only sometimes.

She’d used her looks, and her body, to good effect when she was younger; all agents did‑and most women had to‑ but Bond usually didn’t have any connection to his sex partners.  Sex didn’t create any trace of closeness in Bond; they hadn’t had to train it out of him the way they did most agents.  This was part and parcel of the sociopathic tendencies that were almost textbook recruitment traits for the Double-O program.

Most people thought Bond was a bit over the line‑ like some of the others‑ but M knew better.

Bond simply viewed sex as a pleasant physical activity, and it meant nothing, other than an opportunity to control and manipulate someone and have a bit of fun‑ until it meant a lot more than that.  It had meant more than that with Vesper, and after her death M thought that he would never care about a sex partner again.  After Alec she had wondered if he would care about anyone again at all. He scarcely even had friends, just people he bantered with occasionally.

And then he’d made friends with her Quartermaster.

It had been a surprise to realize that Bond liked him, but better than NOT liking him.  She’d been pained to realize that Q had developed a crush on Bond.  She’d hoped he would get over it quickly, before it led to work issues, especially since Bond wouldn’t return it. 

She had been relieved that he didn’t want to use it to try to snap Q out of it. Relieved and annoyed.

Annoyed because it would be the easiest way, and relieved because the long term consequences would leave Q more in love with Bond, and when Bond didn’t want anything but  a friendly work relationship, well….

But…

Bond had been showing symptoms of something more. 

Risking being captured was pure Bond, of course; he would do that just for fun, and to play on the sparks with Moriarty, so she hadn’t thought much of it.

But the way he’d been afterwards‑almost gentle with Q‑and he’d spent a great deal of time with Q, helping him to recover.

She’d have to talk to him.  If this was professional, to help anchor Q to MI6, and keep him from Moriarty, it would make sense.  It was in fact the most logical answer.  But M still had the feeling there was something more there.

Which led back to Moriarty.

And DAMN that was a problem, because he was Bond’s type.  Bond did have a type and she knew it well.  He liked them deadly, and smart, and as close to equal as possible, and he liked a challenge‑ the package they were in didn’t matter. She’d heard the interest in the report after he came back from dealing with him the first time.

And once again, that was fine. His interest was a weapon, just like sex.

Except…

She’d heard it when they were together, when Bond had been so furious at him over Q‑and again that bore watching‑ but that had slid away far too quickly.  They’d stood there and flirted in front of her…

And in front of Mycroft…

And it was interest and edges on both sides, and that was very bad.  It was the kind of thing that had led to alliances that accomplished the impossible, and to countries being overthrown when all we wanted was a simple assassination.

JUST the idea of Bond‑the best Double-O in her arsenal‑ and Jim Moriarty‑the most slippery villain in England‑ with that kind of mutual interest? That kind of mutual game?  It was enough to make her contemplate retirement.

Even without Mycroft.

The ice swirled in the glass again.

Mycroft was a different problem.  He was embedded in government. His family advisors to the crown, and allied with most of the other powerful families. The various branches and names belonging to his family‑Holmes among them‑ boasted some of the most powerful manipulators in England, and the world.

And some of the most dangerous madmen.

The two were not necessarily mutually exclusive.

Mycroft was known to have his own department for interrogation, in addition to the official ones, and they had questioned Moriarty‑ and let him go.  If they got anything, it wasn’t shared with MI6.

And now, it became obvious they had a past.

He’d been furious that Moriarty had fooled him as Martin, but M had seen it: that was personal‑ as if he, at least, should have recognized the man. Moriarty was almost Mycroft’s opposite number, in the criminal world.

She’d assumed he’d been an agent, once, gone bad.

But then Mycroft Holmes had confirmed that Moriarty would honor his word on the data, that he could be trusted.

Which meant he HADN’T betrayed Mycroft, or his duty.  She’d understood then that Moriarty had been an agent who had had to be burned‑ disavowed‑ and wanted vengeance, but still held his word.

Then the way that Moriarty spoke about him, and to him‑ the easy familiarity; the bitterness when he said all he cared about was his brother.

That spoke of a lover.

And Mycroft was angry, and jealous of the sparks between Moriarty and Bond. He’d outright threatened Bond over him. 

Then nothing had happened, had something changed his mind?

M sipped at her drink thoughtfully, and made the ice ring in the glass, and thought.

Mycroft and Moriarty had been lovers, and that love affair had gone bad in some way.  In retaliation, Mycroft had burned him, probably expecting him to die, and instead had created a problem.

A problem striking back at Mycroft’s brother, because Mycroft cared about him.

She nodded.

Mycroft, meanwhile, was being blackmailed‑ she was certain of it. So were many members of government, but she hadn’t been able to think what Mycroft had to be blackmailed with, and the answer had seemed to be his brother the addict.

But too many people knew his brother had a problem with drugs for that to be more than minor leverage.

Burning an agent because your love affair went south? That was blackmail‑She nodded again‑and not by Moriarty, or he wouldn’t bother with Sherlock.

So.

Mycroft was being blackmailed over his past with Moriarty, and there was deadly anger there, and jealousy.

Moriarty had hooks in Q, but Q was in love with Bond, and Bond was acting to keep him attached‑good.

Bond and Moriarty had chemistry.  It might be enough to bring Moriarty into line, or make him slip, but it could endanger Bond unnecessarily.

 

And that would be the end of it, if it weren’t for the long overdue report that Bond had turned in about his  experiences with Jim Moriarty.

Moriarty had a sniper.  Bond had given his name as Sebastian Moran, without knowing that name had haunted M for quite some time.

Because she’d wanted him for the Double-O program, and someone else had gotten him.  Now she knew who: Jim Moriarty.

M knew she was possessive about some things.  Her agents were HERS, and she’d always wondered who had ended up with Moran, and if she could get him back.

Now she had a line on Sebastian Moran, and it was attached to Jim Moriarty.  Bond and Q might be enough to tighten the snare around them, but the risk that he would acquire them instead was real.

Bond would never betray M, and his patriotism was beyond question, but Moriarty wasn’t exactly an enemy of the country…

And Mycroft had just revealed himself to be a problem.

 

M put her drink down, still half full, and went to bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want to read the details of what happened to Sherlock, go to part 2, otherwise skip to part 3 where the story picks up many weeks later.  
> M is referring to the events in "Unknown Soldier" which may be read at any point.


End file.
